Ghost in my Head
by Bogart and Bacall
Summary: Four months after Claire Kincaid's death, Jack McCoy's new assistant takes on a heavy load during the Dressler case. Intent on learning about Claire Kincaid, she uncovers something she never expected to find.
1. Chapter 1

Ghost in My Head

Chapter One

Jamie left Jack's office, angry and confused. His attitude bordered on insanity, the death penalty for a drunk driving case? He was unbending, refusing to discuss it, and she left before she said something unforgivable. She sought the refuge of her little cubicle, sinking low in her chair, and looked through the glass at Jack's closed door. Why was he pushing so hard, so angry? She glanced around her little space, and remembered who occupied it before her. Jack's words – "Do you ever wonder how your position became open?" – rang in her brain. She picked up the phone and dialed the two seven, asking for Lennie Briscoe.

'I need to see you, if it's convenient," she said, toying with a pencil and keeping a wary eye on Jack's door. "I'll meet you at the house,' she said, and hung up. She grabbed her coat and purse, then told her clerk she was going to the two seven to talk to the detectives.

Lennie waited for her, and escorted her into an interview room. She draped her coat over a chair, then sat and looked at the man perched on the edge of the table. "Has Jack talked to you about this case?"

"The drunk?" Lennie sighed. He knew where this was going. 'Do you mean has he said this one's for Claire Kincaid?"

Jamie nodded. "You were with her. I pulled the file."

He sagged, aging ten years before her eyes. "I was. She came to pick up McCoy, but he'd split, tired of waiting. I caught a ride with her. Guilt – it's what keeps Jack and I bonded yet anything but friends. You didn't know her?"

'I'd seen her, heard the stories about them. Tell me about her, Lennie, help me understand why Jack is being such a hardass on this. It won't bring her back." Jamie felt awkward, talking behind Jack's back, but he was heading for disbarment, sanctions at the least. She needed to understand.

Lennie slid off the table and pulled a chair out. He sank onto it like he weighed five hundred pounds. He covered his face with his palms for a second, then slapped them on the table. He looked at Jamie, assessing her motives for nosing into this terrible history. "She was a great kid, Claire. Beautiful, smart, but vulnerable. And she fell in love with Jack McCoy." He shook his head. "And he loved her. We used to joke about it, that she humanized him, but that night." He stopped, looked out the window. "That night was a nightmare, that whole thing was. We all got the day off, and McCoy spent his afternoon in a bar. Claire went her own way, I hear she ended up here taking to the Loo. Anyway, McCoy called her to pick him up, but she took her time about it. He was soused, he got pissed, and he left.' He sighed. "And I fell off the wagon. So she offered me a ride. Bad timing all around."

"He really loved her?'

Lennie nodded. "Oh yeah. He went ballistic over that punk's sentence – a year. A year for killing a wonderful young woman with all the potential in the world. He's aged, he's bitter, he drinks too much. I'm not surprised he's thinking this one is for Claire, and personally, I hope that mope gets exactly what he deserves. It won't bring Claire back, but it might bring Jack a little peace."

"And Adam never made him get help?"

Lennie snorted. 'Make McCoy get help? His grief is so deep, so raw, I don't think anyone can help him. I don't think he wants help, he'd view it as an invasion of his privacy, his pain."

Jamie flashed on a memory, Jack and a beautiful young woman in the hallway, by the elevator, in the courthouse. Jack was laughing, his hand on the small of the woman's back. She was looking up at him with shining eyes, and Jamie recalled thinking there's two happy people. "I didn't know," she said. "I didn't know he loved her that much, that he was in that much pain. I just thought he was being unreasonable. I sensed it was somehow personal." She patted Lennie's arm. "Is there any way I can help him?"

"Yeah, by not trying to help. He has to work through this his way." He looked at his watch. 'If you want to know more about Claire, talk to the Loo. They were pretty close in their own way."

"I might do that." Jamie stood. "I need to understand his pain, understand why he's so rigid on this. Maybe find a way to ease his pain enough to pull him back from the edge of career suicide."

Lennie walked out of the room with her. 'Talk to the Loo, Counselor. She's the one who held Jack's hand at the hospital."

Jamie tried to imagine that scene. It was hard to visualize the small lieutenant holding the EADA's hand in any circumstances. She walked back into the squad room with Lennie, and as he resumed his seat at his desk, continued on to Van Buren's office. The loo looked up as Jamie knocked on the open door, then stood.

"Counselor," she said, pleasantly, "what brings you here?"

"Do you have time to talk?"

Anita closed a file on her desk and nodded. Jamie closed the door, and sat in the chair in front of the desk. She crossed her legs and took a deep breath. "Jack has gone round the bend on the Dressler case," she began.

"The drunk driver."

"Yes. I think it's because of Claire Kincaid.' She matched Anita's steady gaze. "Lennie told me a little about her, about them, and suggested I talk to you. Jack's going to commit career suicide with this one if I don't find some way to reach him, to understand what's driving him."

'Rage," Anita answered. "Her killer got twelve months." Anita sat and leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap. She chewed her bottom lip. How much should she, could she, say, without betraying either Jack or Claire? She probed Jamie with her eyes, taking her measure, then made her decision. She knew how close Jack was to losing it, maybe this young women could help. "I was close to Claire, it was much like a maternal relationship in some ways. I feel a little uncomfortable revealing much about her, but I care about Jack, I understand only too well the pain he's suffering. They were in love, I don't think that was any great secret. She came to see me the day she died, she was thinking about quitting the DA's office. And she was pregnant. The execution tore her up, messed with her moral compass so to speak, and she had a lot on her mind."

"Did Jack know she was pregnant?" Jamie tried to keep the shock out of her voice.

"Yes. He was OK with it."

"Was Claire?"

Anita smiled. "Yeah. She loved that man like a fat kid loves cake. Some things defy explanation." Her eyes danced with humor. "She knew they had some problems to work out, and her crisis of conscience over the execution didn't help. She told me they argued on the way into work that morning and she avoided his phone calls most of the day. When he finally paged her that night, she was here, and she took it, privately. We chatted a little more, then she left to get him. You know the rest?"

"I think so. He wasn't there, but Lennie was."

"Guilt does terrible things to people, Jamie. I don't know who's suffering more, Jack or Lennie, when it comes to guilt. Jack also feels guilty about the baby, about all that could have been, and was stolen. When Baumgarten was given twelve months, I thought Jack was going to go after him, but he let it go. But he hasn't let go of Claire."

"Maybe it's time he does."

Anita shook her head. "Everyone grieves at their own pace, Jamie. He's aged so much since it happened, No one can reach him, talk to him about it. He shuts down, pushes people away. You haven't been with him long enough to know how he ticks."

Jamie shook her head. "I better learn fast. What can I do?"

"Nothing. He's not ready to let go, and he's out for vengeance, however he can get it. I've heard he goes to her grave every weekend. God knows what he's thinking." Anita glanced past Jamie at the busy squad room. "Just be patient, and keep trying to make him see reason. The last thing Claire Kincaid would want is for him to ruin the rest of his life."

"What kind of person was she?"

"Sweet, truly a sweet person. Smart as hell. Beautiful. She was a good lawyer who was going to be great. There was a vulnerability about her that got to you, you knew she'd been hurt and that you didn't want to hurt her, too. She was so young, my God, what a waste." Anita looked away, the pain in her eyes obvious. "I miss her." That simple statement spoke many complex truths, and a seed of understanding sprouted in Jamie.

"How did they get away with it? I'm familiar with the rule about subordinates and bosses."

Anita's smile was fond. "You had to know her, for one. See them together. Of course they tried to be discreet, but in the end, Adam Schiff simply turned a blind eye to the obvious. Now he has something worse to deal with, and I suspect he's as lost as you are."

'Jack going postal?"

Anita nodded. "He has to let Jack deal with his pain, but there are limits, hence your arrival as Jack's second chair." She studied the other woman. "Seems he could have chosen someone who didn't bear a superficial resemblance to Claire, though."

"I don't look like her." Jamie turned defensive.

"In a way you do. Dark hair, tall…it doesn't matter." Anita shook it off. "I loved that girl. There were times when I wanted to just wrap her in my arms and make it all better, especially that night. There's no way to make sense of the senseless. All that said, you have your work cut out for you, finding a way to rein Jack in, keep him from ruining his career. Try talking about her, maybe he'll open up."

"I don't think so."

"Don't you have to try?"

Jamie shrugged. "Maybe. But not until I know more, I don't want to blindly stumble into his personal hornet's nest."

Anita stood, there were things to do, and remembering Claire was not one of them. The pain was as fresh as the night it happened, and she wanted to politely get rid of Jamie Ross. Jamie took the telegraphed hint and stood, too. "Try, Jamie. It's all you can do."

She nodded. "I will. Soon. Thanks for your time."

"It hurts, to talk about her, I mean. Remember that if you talk to anyone else, especially Jack."

Jamie left the office, the station, and caught a cab back to Hogan Place. Her mind swirled with images, little bits of memory – seeing Claire in the courthouse, but never in court – and tried to imagine what the young woman was like. She wondered how someone that young, that beautiful, could fall in love with a man so much older, attractive as Jack was. She saw a side of him I've never seen and never will, she thought, climbing out of the taxi. And I get to pick up the pieces and try to keep him from committing symbolic suicide.

She met Ruthie Miller on the steps, coming down. She stopped when she saw Jamie and flashed a friendly smile. 'So how's life on the other side of the aisle?" she asked.

"interesting." Jamie hesitated. "Ruthie, did you know Claire Kincaid?"

Ruthie's smile faded. 'Yes." She held her briefcase handle with both hands. "Why?"

"We have a drunk driver case, and Jack's gone nuts, pushing for the death penalty."

"Are you surprised?"

"Yes."

"Jamie, Jack was a son of a bitch before Claire. Now he's a miserable, guilt-ridden son of a bitch. Those couple of years in between were special, she was special. Good luck, girl."

Jamie watched Ruthie walk down the steps, then continued on to her office on the tenth floor. Jack's door was still closed, and she returned to her desk. She opened the drawer holding the file marked "Kincaid, Claire" and glanced around before reading it again.

The pictures were gruesome, even in black and white. She flipped them over and read the reports. She died an hour after arriving at the hospital, broken beyond repair. Jamie looked up, at Jack's door, and wondered if that held true for him. Detective Lennie Briscoe suffered minor injuries, was drunk, had hauled the driver of the truck out of his car and was about to pound him into hamburger when the RMCs arrived. Fire and rescue cut her out of the car, tried to save her, hustled her to Hudson, but those terrible injuries were too much, even for a young, healthy woman. And John Baumgarten got twelve months. She closed the file. This file was going to trump the open one, the Dressler file, and if Jack didn't come to his senses, wreck his life as efficiently as Baumgarten had wrecked so many others.

Jack's office door opened and Jamie shoved the file in its drawer. He stopped by her doorway. "I'm going home," he said. Jamie looked at her watch, it was five. OK, fine, gives me a reason to get out early, too. She nodded, observing the bags under his eyes, the sadness that colored them, the slump of his shoulders. "No need for you to hang around, go spend some time with Katie." He turned and walked toward the elevators.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack straddled his motorcycle and adjusted his helmet, then turned the key. As the engine roared, he thought he felt light hands on his waist, and his head involuntarily turned. Emptiness. He eased out of his parking space and shot through the garage into Manhattan traffic. No matter how much penance he did, he'd never feel those hands on his waist again, and the anger that surged through him made him careless. He wove through traffic like a man possessed, which he was.

He reached his apartment building and parked. He acknowledged the doorman with a jerk of his head, and ignored the couple waiting for the elevator. He got on it and rode to his floor, silent as the apartment would be, his helmet dangling from his hand. Once inside, he tossed the helmet aside, into the general clutter, and made for the scotch.

He sank on the couch, glass in hand and bottle nearby, and regarded the clutter. Claire would not approve. He looked at the framed picture of her on his end table, taken at a lighthouse on the Maine coast a couple of months before she died. Her smile seemed to hold some secret, and Jack, in retrospect, wondered if she knew then that she'd gotten pregnant that weekend.

They'd walked along the beach, landscaped with rocks and boulders, cold sea spray hitting their faces. They watched the fishing boats heading for port as the sun went down, and Jack had wondered aloud what it would be like to live a life at sea. Claire took his hand.

"I spent a lot of summers sailing," she said, "Mac had a passion for it when I was growing up. It has its attractions, but it's also a hard life. And I would imagine theirs," she nodded toward the trawlers, "Is hard beyond belief."

He smiled down at her. "Harder than ours?"

She smiled. Oh God, that smile always touched him in ways he'd once thought impossible. "It's all relative, I suppose," she said, and squeezed his hand. He stopped, turned, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her and then pressing her face against his shoulder. And they'd returned to their room at the bed and breakfast, where they made a baby without knowing it.

He snapped back. His glass was empty and he refilled it. It was the only thing that numbed his pain, but sometimes it failed. Why, he asked himself for the thousandth time, didn't I insist you stay home? He sipped. As the scotch slid down his throat, a familiar self-loathing filled him. The hell with her. Oh Jesus Christ, he thought, fighting tears, why, why did I say that? Why did those have to be my last words on the subject of Claire Kincaid? Once Adam had called, sent a car for him, once he'd arrived at the hospital, he was silent. Absolutely silent. He let Anita Van Buren hold his hand, knowing on some level she shared his pain and his inarticulateness, and when the surgeon came out, Jack heard the words and knew the world had changed. He had changed.

Legally guiltless, morally bankrupt and convicted, he refilled his glass yet again. Claire, he whispered, overwhelmed by the emptiness of the apartment. The same kind of emptiness he felt at the office. His thoughts turned to Adam and Jamie. He knew Adam was trying to help, to force him to move on, but Jamie Ross? He shuddered. Still too much of a defense attorney, and clueless as to why he demanded justice for those three people cut down in the street on a Sunday morning, as Claire had been cut down on a rainy night. Briscoe understood, he thought, and damn well he should, since Claire died because Briscoe was too drunk to get himself home.

Don't, he thought he heard Claire whisper, don't blame Lennie. He carries enough blame, enough guilt, for both of you. Jack drank, it silenced the voices. He knew Lennie suffered, that he would never get the image of Claire trapped in that smashed car out of his memory. The blame properly belonged to Jack, who left, tired of waiting.

A memory, uninvited, showed up. Claire walking into the apartment, shopping bags in hand, a teasing smile on her face. Yet rather than show him her purchases, she tossed the Nordstrom's bags aside and sat in his lap, kissing him as if it had been weeks, rather than a few hours, since she'd seen him. He sometimes wondered where he found the energy to keep up with her appetites. He'd been tired that Sunday afternoon, but within seconds, they were ripping clothes off and making love on the couch. This couch. He needed to get rid of it, it held too many place memories, emotions. Making love to Claire had been his personal stairway to heaven, and now that was gone.

He poured the last of the scotch into his glass. It was getting dark, but he didn't bother with a lamp. He preferred the darkness now, he didn't see Claire everywhere. He almost heard her tease him – you're going to trip and break your stubborn neck, Jack – and he swallowed. He didn't care if he broke his neck, not if it meant he would join Claire. You don't have a death wish, Olivet told him in the weeks following Claire's death, you have an I don't care if I live complex, and that's even more dangerous. The hell with Olivet, he thought, bitterly, she didn't love Claire, she didn't understand his pain. He finished the scotch in his glass and tipped over on the couch, on his back, hoping to sleep for a little while, to escape the memories and the voices and above all the accusations that came from his heart.

Jamie was in arraignments, ready to argue for remand, and was surprised to see opposing counsel. It was Sally Bell. They knew each other well, as the major players in defense did, and after a quick session before the judge, they met at the bar gate.

"Odd to see you on that side," Sally said.

"It's where I belong right now." Jamie drew a deep breath. "You have time for lunch, or coffee?"

Sally looked at her watch. "Yeah, sure."

They went to the restaurant that catered to the courthouse crew and found a small table in the back. They ordered coffee. Sally perceptively watched Jamie, waiting. It would come.

When the coffee arrived, Jamie said, "Tell me about Jack."

Sally smiled, a hint of bitterness in it. "Where to begin," she said, and raised her cup to her lips. "I gather you're caught in the Claire Kincaid fallout?"

Jamie nodded. "And I'm clueless. It seems everyone thinks the woman was a saint, and Jack, my God, Jack's so full of anger he scares me."

"He loved her, what do you expect?" Sally seated the cup in the saucer. "Claire Kincaid was not a saint, Jamie. She was a sweet girl, young and idealistic, but she knew how to get what she wanted. And she wanted Jack. She got him. I remember the first time I saw them, we were opposing counsel, and I knew exactly what was going on. They tried to hide it, believe me, but I'd been Jack's lover. I knew what I was seeing."

"I'm having trouble imagining anyone falling in love with Jack."

Sally smiled. "Right now, sure. I've known him for years, this isn't Jack, this an open wound. He's lost, Jamie. I never thought that would happen, he was always so damned sure of himself. But he loved that girl, something else I never expected. Sleeping with assistants was a game with him." She shrugged. "If I had my crystal ball, I'd predict he'll never look at an assistant again in that way."

Jamie struggled with her conscience, but in the end, curiosity won. "Did you know she was pregnant when she died?"

Sally raised her eyebrows. "I'd heard rumors. One of Liz Rodgers' assistants has a big mouth. So it was true? That must have upended Jack."

"From what I hear he was fine with it."

Sally pushed her cup and saucer away, a trace of bitterness on her face. "Then Claire changed him more than I thought. Or else it was a case of her Claire getting what she wanted, again."

"Are you saying she was manipulative?"

"No." Sally fidgeted with a spoon. "But she has this air of vulnerability – real enough – and its effect was to make people want to protect her, give her what she wanted, and she was smart enough to catch on. She had a thing for older men, so I'm not surprised she decided she wanted Jack, nor would I be surprised if he resisted more than one point one seconds. He was a horny bastard if ever there was one."

Jamie frowned. "It had to have been more than sex, Sally. You should see him now. He stays locked in his office, or else he's savaging defendants…" she sighed. "He's hurting, OK, I can see that, but he's almost mean about it."

"I told you he loved her. And I'm sure he's turned her into some kind of saint now, some kind of perfect woman and no one else will ever compare with her. And knowing Jack, with his Jesuit education, he feels a lot of guilt. Good luck with him, kiddo. If you can't take it anymore, you can always come work for me."

Jamie smiled. "Thanks, I appreciate that." She looked at her watch. "I better get back."

"Stay in touch, Jamie." Sally's smile was fond.

"I will."

She hurried back to the office and busied herself at her desk. Within minutes, Jack was bellowing for her, and she went into his office, mouth dry and palms damp. What fresh hell is this, she wondered.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Arraignments, then I had coffee with Sally Bell."

He frowned at the mention of Sally. "Yeah? And what did you talk about?"

Jamie took a deep breath. "You. Claire Kincaid. The Dressler mess."

Jack stepped behind his desk, as if it would keep him from going for her. "Stay out of my life, Jamie. Claire is none of your goddamn business, and has nothing to do with Dressler. You'd do well to remember that, to quit thinking like a defense attorney and remember we prosecute criminals in this office." He was yelling, and Jamie winced. "Get out of here and get back to work."

She'd no sooner closed Jack's door when Adam stood in the hallway, beckoning. She followed him into his office.

"Take a seat, Miss Ross," he said, gently, easing into his desk chair. "I couldn't help but overhear that exchange between you and Jack."

Jamie fought tears, it wouldn't do to show hurt and weakness to her new boss. "He's so, I don't know, out of control on the subject, Mr. Schiff. The death penalty for a drunk driver?"

"He has his reasons, and I support him. We lost something special, Miss Ross."

Jamie sighed. "So what was she, saint or sinner? What made her so special, that it would send Jack into this kind of fury?"

"She wasn't a saint but she was a good person. Kind, smart, I'm sure you've heard it all before. What they had was more than a passionate affair, it was a commitment, and that's a foreign word to Jack McCoy. I'm worried about him, he's not recovering, which is one reason I hired you. I hoped you could reach him, pull him back into the world."

"I can't do that if he won't talk to me."

Adam sighed. "He's not ready to talk. When he is, you'll know it. Just remember, he lost his world and with it, his compass. You have to lead him without him realizing it back to the land of the living. Think you can do that?"

"I can try. Where do I start?"

"Talk to people who knew her, knew them. I saw them every day, and every day I had to turn a blind eye to that rule about subordinates and supervisors and consenting adults." He sighed again. "They were always touching, one way or another, whether it was sitting together on a couch, or standing too close, or…" he waved his hand. "You get the idea. At first I thought it was Jack being Jack, and I called him in to read him the riot act." He leaned back and stared at the windows, lost in memory. Jack McCoy, called into his office as if it was the woodshed, closing the door.

"Didn't I warn you about bedding Ms. Kincaid when I assigned her to you?" Adam snarled.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "You did. And I tried to honor that, as did she, but Adam, this is different. This isn't Sally Bell or Diana Hawthorne."

"Then what is it?"

"I love her."

That simple statement silenced the old man for a moment. "You what?' he asked, when he recovered.

"I love her. If you want to fire us for it, go ahead."

"How long has this been going on?"

"The sex, or the emotion behind it?"

"Take your pick." Adam stared up at the younger man.

"I've loved her almost from the beginning. I've been sleeping with her for two months."

Adam shook his head. "And you're willing to get fired over it?"

Jack nodded. "I can't imagine life without her, Adam," he said, softly, the un-Jack standing like a boy in the principal's office. "So fire me if you must, but I will not give her up."

"And she feels the same way."

Jack nodded.

"All right, just please, be discreet."

He looked at Jamie Ross as the memory faded, wishing he could explain so many things to her. He'd saddled her, unfairly perhaps, with a burden she wasn't yet equipped to handle, but he felt she'd grow into it. "My advice," he softly said, glancing at his private entrance lest Jack suddenly burst in, "is to talk to as many people as you can about her, about Jack, about them. You want an interesting perspective? Go see Diana Hawthorne up in Bedford. She'll fill your ears."

Jamie nodded and left his office, wondering what pile of crap she'd stepped into and if she'd survive the experience. She returned to her cubicle, and then, impulsively, reached for a directory. She made a call, and when she hung up, she had an appointment to see Diana Hawthorne the next morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack stood at his office window, a glass of scotch in hand, staring blindly down at traffic. His door was locked, the blinds pulled. It had been that way since that terrible night, and his associates gave him the space he required. Only a rookie would ignore those symbolic do not disturb signs.

He rested a hand on the window, pressed his forehead to the glass, as rain fell. It reminded him of an afternoon, very early in their relationship, when he and Claire could not keep their hands off one another. Having finally given in to the lust possessing them for so many months, it only grew worse, this lust, this need for naked flesh on flesh. Jack turned from the window but not the memory, sitting at his desk and refilling his glass. He leaned back and put his feet on his desk, near the picture of Claire he could not bring himself to move.

It was raining that day, too. Business was slow, and it was a Friday afternoon, with nothing calendared for the afternoon. Jack locked the door, yanked the blind strings, and turned to grin at her. "Can't be seen drinking during office hours." He crossed the room to lock Adam's private entrance, then opened his bottom drawer for the bottle of scotch. He glanced at Claire, who was slightly alarmed at the private door's lock, and he grinned again. He wondered how long it would take to get her out of her panties. He poured two short drinks, and brought them to Claire. She took hers, but Jack put his aside and pulled her close. He kissed her, felt her respond, and pulled her tighter into his embrace. He heard her glass hit the floor as her arms went around him. Their tongues played together, and Jack knew she felt his erection. Finally she broke away and looked up at him.

"Adam," she whispered.

Jack tangled his fingers in her hair, smiling. "Adam is in a meeting with the mayor. At City Hall." His mouth covered hers again, his left hand moved to her slender neck, while his right brushed her breast. Her nipples were rock hard. He backed her to the couch, still kissing her, God the woman knew how to kiss. They fell onto the couch, and Jack propped himself on his elbows, looking down at her before nipping her chin, her ear, her neck. Then he skillfully worked her skirt up to her waist, and met the frustration of pantyhose. Ripping them off was not an option. He rose to his knees and pulled them down, then sighed and stood and pulled the hose and her panties off with one swift move. Then he freed his burning erection, his pants dropping to his knees as he eased between her legs.

"I've had such fantasies about this couch," he whispered, joining them with one swift, hard stroke that made her gasp. Her fingernails dug into his neck, and he kissed her again. He thought he could spend hours simply kissing her, and then her walls gripped him and he thought the hell with kissing. He rose up on his arms, watching her, smiling, as he drove them home. Despite Adam's absence, there were no guarantees, but a quickie would do. Claire's legs wrapped around his, her pelvis meeting his thrusts.

"Oh Christ," she moaned, and he felt her walls shift from velvet to a tighter, rougher grip. Knowing how close she was, he drove harder, aware he was seconds from exploding, and then she did, bucking under him, biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out. His release came then, and he collapsed onto her, sweating and breathing hard.

"This should be written into the union contract," he whispered.

"What." She shifted under his weight, and he gently slipped away from her, pulling up his shorts and pants.

"Getting laid on company time." He zipped his pants and buckled his belt, then looked around for something to aid her, settling on the Kleenex box on his desk.

She efficiently took care of herself and made an effort to erase the traces on the couch. Tossing the Kleenex in the trash, she adjusted the waistband of her pantyhose, then the line of her skirt. "Maybe you should mention it at the next bar association function."

He grinned, pleased with himself, with her, with getting away with the forbidden. "I'll do that."

"In the meantime," she said, ever practical, "if we don't open those blinds, I can think of one secretarial pool that's going to go into overdrive spreading the word. Suspected hanky panky, and right in the office." She laughed. God, she had such a merry laugh, like a cheerful gremlin let loose on holiday to pull pranks on the unsuspecting.

Satisfied that they were presentable, they sat at Jack's desk, going over witness statements as far as anyone looking in would think. Jack couldn't remember feeling so happy, and he looked at Claire, adoration written on his face. "You're amazing," he said.

She grinned. "In comparison to whom?"

"Nobody compares with you, trust me."

"And you have a comprehensive list to back that up, no doubt."

He blushed. He didn't know how she did it, but she made him feel guilty about sleeping with other women in the years before they met. He wanted to take her hand, settled for pressing her knee with his, and said, "To quote that great philosopher David Cassidy, I think I love you."

She burst into laughter, dropping all pretence of seriousness. "Do you realize I was in diapers when that song came out?" She tossed her pen at him, he easily caught it with one hand. "I prefer to think in terms of say, Cyndi Lauper." She looked at the couch. "And her lesser known but truthful song, She Bop." At Jack's confused expression, she grinned. "I've had my share of fantasies about that couch, too. I'll play the song for you one day, explain it to you."

"Tonight?"

She nodded, then took her pen and pretended to work while the rain came down on the city and the clock moved toward quitting time.

Jack finished his scotch and sighed, glancing at that very clock. He should take the day off, he would if he didn't want to work on nailing Dressler to the wall by his foreskin. Claire. When, he asked, would it stop hurting? Surely he had to stop missing her so much sometime. It's only been a few months, he reminded himself, of course you see her everywhere, you're surrounded by memories. She Bop. He smiled, remembering hearing the song and Claire's explanation, which quickly led to her bed and a very long night of making love. He could not imagine ever loving another woman that way. Even the thought of some future woman made him feel disloyal, an adulterer denied penance and forgiveness.

He got up to stretch his legs, clear his mind of memories. He opened his office door, and saw Jamie sitting where Claire belonged, the phone against her ear while she scribbled on a legal pad. She would never understand, and he didn't care. She didn't have to understand, she simply had to do what he told her.

Assistants, he thought. Once they'd been sport of a sort, a game, though he had feelings for each of them, respected them as people, but he never loved them. Diana Hawthorne, he thought, and his skin crawled. He'd sworn then she was the last assistant he'd bag, and then what, four years later, Claire walked into his office. He watched Jamie, but heard Claire, trying to establish ground rules for working together. Well, he'd live by those ground rules now, Claire's rules as he termed them. He turned away from watching Jamie, closing the door. He poured another drink, now that Diana had taken up residence in his mind, comparing herself to Claire. Claire had so kicked her ass in court. He glanced at his desk calendar. She'd be getting out soon, did she know Claire was dead? Probably. And probably did a happy dance, her nemesis destroyed.

Screw this, he thought. He swiftly changed from his suit into jeans and a sweater, and cut across the narrow corridor to Adam's office. He stuck his head through the doorway and said "I need the afternoon, Adam." He hoped his words weren't slurred.

Adam nodded. "All right, son. Do what you need to, but be back in the morning, ready to work on the Dressler case."

"You can count on it," he said, and ducked out. He cleared his desk, grabbed his helmet, and walked away. Lately all he'd wanted to do was walk away, from the office, from life, and he knew it had to stop. Adam only had so much patience, and then, if Jack couldn't do his job, much as it would pain Adam, he would replace Jack with someone who could.

As he straddled his motorcycle and turned the key, he realized he missed talking to Claire most of all. Not the sex, incredible as it was, not the stolen free time when they rode his bike to places where no one knew or cared who they were, what they did. Talking to her. She understood him, had the mental agility to keep up with his tangents, the humor to make him laugh until tears threatened. The last couple of weeks of her life they'd talked either of the baby, a happy subject, or the impending execution of Mickey Scott, a wall between them. Still, it was talking, and now he had no one to talk to like that, and never would.

He drove to the cemetery, recklessly, not giving a flying shit. He slowed as he neared her grave. He parked the bike and walked steadily toward the site, still a fresh raw wound in the earth. He sat by the headstone, tailor fashion, resting his elbows on his knees. "You wouldn't believe this new assistant I have," he began.

"I want to see you in my office." Adam held the receiver in his hand, instead of cradling it between ear and shoulder while doing something else as usual. "Now." He hung up, then sighed. He hated the hard stuff, the emotional stuff, when it came to his staff. Jack would be the hardest of all, for he truly understood the man's pain and rudderless existence. However, the DA's office could not function without a pilot with a firm grip on the rudder, and Adam was going to have to come down on him without hurting him more.

Jack knocked as he opened the private door. His tie knot was undone, collar button open, and the bags under his eyes telegraphed both his lack of sleep and his indulgence in a bottle. Jack closed the door and warily approached. "What," he said, pulling a visitor's chair further away from Adam's desk.

Adam looked at him, his old eyes full of compassion and even love. He'd watched this man grow from rookie prosecutor in the bullpen to the second most powerful attorney in this office. When he was good, he was unbeatable, and witnessing his self-destruction was one of the most painful things Adam endured in this whole painful mess. "Jack, you look like hell."

"Thank you very much, sir."

"Can the sarcasm, son." Adam leaned forward on his desk. "I think you've lost sight of everything that's important. You've launched your own campaign for justice for Claire, and it's not the drunk who killed her."

"But who did kill three people, have you lost sight of that?" Jack crossed his legs and gripped the arms of the chair, as defensive as Adam had ever seen him.

"No, certainly not, but you're very close to crossing a line. You're very close to pulling a Diana Hawthorne, Jack." There, he'd said it, and he waited for the explosion.

Jack looked puzzled. "How?" he asked, and he sounded bewildered. "She was after personal gain. I'm seeking justice for three people."

"Four," Adam corrected, "but by what means? Ask yourself this – would Claire approve of this war you've launched? Of your tactics?" His smile was sad. "I loved her, too, Jack. Not like you did, obviously, but she felt very much like a daughter to me. I hired her, I placed her with Ben Stone, gave her a huge boost over attorneys who'd been with the office longer, because I saw what she could, would, be. The Claire Kincaid I treasure would kick your ass over these maneuvers and you know it, somewhere in that gaping wound we call a heart."

Jack stared at him, then looked away. "I'm doing the right thing, Adam. He ran down three people in the street for the hell of it, including a little boy. You said you agreed with me, that we needed to make an example of this bastard. Are you ordering me to back off?"

Adam shook his head. "Not yet. I still have hope you'll find your way back, but I am watching, son. Grief has its place, but not in the workplace. I understand that you feel like your world has been destroyed, but it hasn't. It's just changed. I gave you a brilliant assistant, maybe you should listen to her. You listened to Claire." He cocked his head. "And I'm not talking about pillow talk. Jamie has years of experience Claire lacked, though I'm the first to admit she was gaining on everyone, even you. I want you to give Jamie Ross a fair chance. Listen to her, stop rejecting what she says out of hand. I'm sorry, Jack, but if you can't find a way to leave your grief and pain at the door and do your job the way you're supposed to, I'll have to replace you."

"You wouldn't." Jack's mouth opened, he closed it with an audible snap.

"Are you leaving me much choice? I walk in this office every morning, and I look at that cubby, still expecting to see Claire at her desk, or in your office. And it hurts, but I have to leave that hurt for later, there's work to be done, and we're entrusted to do that work and do it well."

"Adam, she was having my baby. We were going to get married at some point. I can't just turn that off when I get off the elevator."

Adam rubbed his face, then gently stared at his protégé. "You have to. And you have to stop drinking all day, locked away in your office, leaving major decisions to less experienced attorneys. Again, I remind you of Diana Hawthorne. Your emotional involvement with her led you to less oversight, and look what happened. The city can't afford another Diana Hawthorne, Jack. It can't afford a drunken, grieving boyfriend. I want you to start seeing Olivet, and yes, that is an order."

Jack's lips were pressed together, an expression Adam knew well. "Liz can't do a damn thing for me."

"I think she can, if you'll give her half a chance."

"So you're ordering me into counseling."

He nodded. "I've tried giving you space, I've been tolerant, ignored the drinking, the shouting matches with Miss Ross. See Liz, or take a leave of absence until your head's back where it should be." He picked up a Post-it note. "You have an appointment with Liz in one hour. And while right now it's your case and I won't tell you how to run it, think these things through. Think of Claire, she adored you. And listen to Miss Ross. That's it."

Jack stared at Adam for a moment, then got up. "Very well, Adam, you are my boss. If you want me to undergo counseling with Liz, I will. But right now I am not cutting a deal with a multiple murderer." He stalked out of Adam's office, leaving the door open in his wake.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a bright Saturday morning, too beautiful to be driving to a prison. But Jamie wanted to know what had happened to Jack, and Diana Hawthorne was a good a person to interview as any.

"At least Katie's with Neal this weekend," she said aloud. Even her intense curiosity over this entire affair would not mean that she missed a weekend with her daughter – since starting this job she had barely spent any time with her.

Thinking of her daughter might be pleasant, but it certainly wasn't any way to prepare herself to meet Diana Hawthorne. In the heat of the moment, Jamie had telephoned for an appointment without bothering to think what questions she would ask Diana – or what answers she would receive. What sort of view of Claire Kincaid would she receive from Diana? She was understandably bitter, after nearly six months in prison – the fact that her sentence would soon be up meant nothing. She had lost her respect, her license, her livelihood, and her lover – all because of Claire Kincaid. Just because she was dead did not mean that she would feel any more inclined to be sympathetic towards her. She would probably feel Claire had gotten what she deserved.

Jamie remembered Diana Hawthorne – they had met several times at various cocktail parties. She had certainly been a glamorous woman, and would not have taken well to prison – especially Bedford. Jamie never would have suspected that Diana would have done something like that – risking her livelihood for a man. And not just any man – Jack McCoy!

Jamie still didn't understand what attracted all these women – Sally, Diana, Claire – to Jack. Yes, he might be an open wound now, and she hadn't known him well before… but what was there about Jack that made all these women fall in love with him? Perhaps Diana would be able to tell her, among other things.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was nervous, nervous to see this former assistant of Jack's. And while she wanted to learn about Jack, wanted to help him, was it really her place to do so? Shouldn't Adam be worried about keeping Jack in check, not allowing him to searching for revenge for Claire Kincaid? Just because Adam had liked her too didn't mean he should forget his duties as an elected official.

And Jack himself… perhaps he should have retired after Claire's death. He was too old for this now – maybe not in actual years, but her death had aged him quite a lot. And, as Jamie had seen, he was certainly unable to control his rage in this case.

The prison was in sight; Jamie went through the routine inspections and finally entered the main building. After signing in, she was given a nametag and led to one of the visitor's rooms. Sitting down, she waited for Diana to enter.

Jamie had only waited a few minutes before the door opened and a skinny blonde woman stepped into the room. The heavy female guard closed and locked the door behind them, taking up her post outside the door.

It was only when the woman spoke that Jamie realized, with a start, that this woman was Diana Hawthorne.

"So, Jamie Ross," Diana sneered, "I have to admit, I was surprised to hear that _you_ were my visitor."

Jamie tried to hide her shock at Diana's appearance – how could this gaunt woman be the glamorous one Jamie knew all those years ago?

"And I didn't expect to see you like… this," Jamie replied coolly. "I suppose this is a day for surprises."

Diana sat down in the empty chair, staring insolently at Jamie. "So, why are you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you about Claire Kincaid," she said.

It was as though a bomb went off – Diana jumped out of her seat, fury written in every line of her face. "Claire Kincaid?" she shrieked, "Claire Kincaid? How dare you come here and ask me about that bitch! Did Jack put you up to it?"

Jamie was disturbed – could jail really do this to a person? Or had Diana's guilt over her actions (if she felt any guilt, which Jamie doubted) done this to her?

"Diana!" Jamie all but shouted, hoping to bring the deranged woman back to the present. It worked.

"What?" she spat.

"Diana, no one put me up to it. I just want to know about her. I thought you'd relish the chance to discuss your nemesis."

She sat down on the chair again, her gaze calmer and more thoughtful. "Claire Kincaid…" she murmured, her tone still a bit malevolent. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Wherever you feel is appropriate," Jamie said, unwilling to provoke another round of Diana's madness.

"Claire Kincaid used to be Ben Stone's assistant, you know," she began a few moments later. "He was head-over-heels for her – always had been. But then he left for Europe after one of his witnesses was killed, and she became Jack's assistant."

Jamie knew this, but she nodded anyway, not wanting to interrupt.

"I was in private practice by then, as you know, when the Dillard case resurfaced. That was the first time I met her. She was smug, self-assured… too arrogant for her own good. Just like Jack. Naturally, I knew they were sleeping together – it was very obvious indeed for someone who knew Jack as well as I did. And I knew him for years. For years…" She paused to take a breath. "She was vindictive – a complete and utter bitch. What else could have provoked her to attack me like that in court? You can read the transcripts! She's the one who wanted me in prison, she's the one who went after me like a wolf baying for blood. She deserves everything she got – and then some."

"Jack really loved her," Jamie ventured.

Diana sneered. "Jack love someone? What a laugh! He doesn't' know how to love – that's why all his relationships failed. Just because whatever he had with _Claire_ ended with her death didn't mean that it wouldn't have ended like ours did – with him breaking her heart. Jack McCoy doesn't love anyone, or anything… no, I take that back. He does love a few things – because he can only bring himself to love inanimate objects. He's a selfish, cold-hearted bastard who loves nothing more than winning and a glass of scotch."

A wicked gleam appeared in her eyes as she analyzed Jamie's question. "Why are you here, anyway? Are you in love with Jack? Trying to get a handle on the competition?"

Jamie pushed her chair back from the table. "No!" she exclaimed, repulsed by the idea. "No, I'm not!"

"Oh, really?" Diana asked, her voice mocking as she stood up. "You're really not in love with Jack McCoy?"

"No," Jamie replied firmly, her skin crawling as Diana approached her. This wasn't allowed – where was the guard? Why wasn't she doing anything?

Diana stopped a few inches away from Jamie, who still was wondering desperately where the guard was. "Good," she said softly. With that, the woman who had been Diana Hawthorne walked to the door, banging on it to let the guard know she was ready to go back to her cell. As Jamie watched the woman walk down the narrow hallway, she shuddered. Diana had unnerved her far more than she believed possible.

As she walked out of Bedford into the fresh air, she gave a huge sigh of relief. Thank goodness that was over! She had certainly learned a bit more about Claire, though she doubted it would be of any use. But Diana had mentioned Ben Stone, and she knew that he was finally back from Europe. Perhaps he would give her a better view of Claire…

She was escorted back to her cell by the same sexually ambiguous guard who had guarded the door during her interview with Jamie. Jamie Ross... now she was one person Diana had never expected to see in Bedford visiting her.

Certainly, they had known each other – they had the same doctors, lived in the same neighborhood, attended the same cocktail parties and fundraisers… but they weren't friends. Nor was Jamie the sort of person to visit and gloat about Diana's presence in jail.

Was Jamie's desire to know about Claire motivated by anything else – perhaps an attraction to Jack? Despite herself, she believed Jamie's denial.

They reached her cell, and Diana stepped into what she not-so-fondly referred to as "the cage". Her cellmate had been released the previous week, and Diana herself would be released in only two weeks. The small calendar she was allowed to keep had the days crossed out, the date of her release circled with a bold red pen.

The date of her release coincided with the four-month anniversary of Claire's death, something Diana felt ironically appropriate. She couldn't have planned it better. It was a triumph of the first magnitude, her pride and joy, the result of so many months of careful planning.

Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold, and Diana's certainly was. And, in truth, she was proud of waiting, though it had been so difficult for her to wait. This was far better than any damage she could have wreaked in the heat of the moment – this was cold, calculating, subtle. And its effects were further reaching than even she had thought possible.

According to Jamie, Jack really had loved Claire. She couldn't bring herself to believe that, but, if it were true, it would make her revenge all the more satisfying. Claire hadn't loved Jack – she had been attracted to him, certainly, but she had used him to get ahead. If she hadn't slept with Jack, Claire would most definitely still be at the bottom of the ADA ladder. But after sleeping with him, doors had been opened for her that would have been closed before.

It wasn't fair! Diana had worked so hard to get where she had been, and Claire had ruined it all – just because she had once loved Jack! She still loved him… she would always love him, thought that didn't mean she didn't want him to suffer. She wasn't kind enough to want him to be happy with someone else – she wanted to be with him. She had always wanted to be with him.

She had risked everything for Jack, and what had she gotten? Six months in jail, while he got his promotion.

She thought that he would propose to her during their time in Ireland, thought that their trip was a new beginning. And indeed it had started out that way – they had been happy, enjoying the fine weather and the beautiful scenery. Then it started to rain, keeping them indoors all the time. He quickly grew annoyed with her, often ending the day at the pub, where he'd drink himself into a stupor.

She remembered the panic she felt on that trip, the desperation that she was losing him. It was identical to what she felt that last time she saw him – just before she accepted the plea.

She just wanted his gratitude! That was all she wanted, all she ever wanted – his affection, his approval, his gratitude – and she never seemed to receive it, no matter how hard she tried. But Claire… oh, it had been so easy for Claire – so easy.

Diana believed it was because Claire had once been Ben's assistant that attracted Jack to her. After all, Jack was always trying to be better than Ben, to beat him, and the fact that Ben had been unrequitedly longing for Claire was no secret around One Hogan Place. Add that to the fact that Jack never could resist anything in a skirt…

But it hurt. Naturally, she was no longer at Hogan Place, but she often saw Jack and Claire despite that – especially before she was convicted. It hurt to see them stealing secret moments in between arraignments, watch him rest a hand on her back, hear them flirt. Everything they had done, he recycled to use with that bitch…

Yes, Claire was rather pretty – Diana would grant her that. And, naturally, she was also clever. Despite what most people think, it was hard to get a job as an assistant district attorney, even if you'd clerked for a judge before. Of course, Diana knew that Claire had been sleeping with Justice Thayer – everyone knew that – but still. Yes, she was clever – and, while she certainly didn't have to be clever to catch Jack, she was clever enough to catch him.

She had wanted to marry Jack, wanted to raise a family with him. She would've done a much better job with that than his first wife! She had only cared about her career, and while Diana had enjoyed her work in the D.A.'s office, she enjoyed being with Jack far more. She had no aspirations of grandeur, did not want to become and E.A.D.A. or a bureau chief, far less a judge. Diana just wanted to work with Jack, doing what she enjoyed – putting criminals in jail.

And now she was one, she thought ruefully, not without a touch of anger coloring her thoughts. All those criminals she'd put in jail… and she was there with them.

It was a good thing, she believed, that she was in a minimum-security prison, and an even better stroke of luck that she was not well known among the criminals she had placed there. They wanted revenge on Jack, not her – and she was grateful for that.

Indeed, her own cellmate was someone Jack had convicted – with Claire – and naturally they got along well. Her cellmate, Joan Woodward, had not done anything wrong – she had just helped her husband hide a bit of incriminating evidence. And Claire had twisted her words in court, leading to her arrest and then conviction.

Joan had, naturally, been sympathetic to Diana's similar story, providing an endless litany of abuses against both Claire and Jack. It was Joan who had suggested from the first that Claire deserved to be taught a lesson, and, as time went by, Diana realized she was right. After all, without Claire's reckless vendetta against her, she would never have been forced to accept a plea, never would have been sentenced to six months in prison.

It was a few weeks after Diana first arrived at Bedford when Joan first sprung her proposition.

"_Why shouldn't she get what she deserves?" Joan asked her. "We could do it. You have the connections, I know how to make people do what I want… and I want this."_

_Diana shivered at her tone – it was evil, heartless. She would not want to get on Joan's bad side. But despite her disapproval upon first hearing, Joan's idea did hold quite a lot of appeal…_

"_How?" she asked despite herself, thinking only of her anger with Claire._

"_You know criminals – you've prosecuted them, then defended them. Is there one that you defended who would do anything for you?"_

_She thought for a moment, then lit upon a perfect person. "John Baumgarten. He was accused of sexual assault, but I got him off – only two weeks before I was arrested. Claire was the prosecutor. He'd do anything I asked him to."_

"_Good," Joan replied, sitting up in her bed. "He can threaten her. Next…"_

"_Wait," she interrupted her cellmate. "Threaten her?"_

"_Of course," Joan said impatiently. "He's good for it, don't you think? If she prosecuted him too, naturally he'd want revenge – even if you got him off."_

"_But what if we got caught?" Diana bleated, sounding rather like a lost sheep. "We'd get arrested again, and our sentences would certainly be extended."_

"_Then we won't get caught," Joan said firmly. "Call him tomorrow; ask if he can meet you here on Thursday for visiting day. We can plan out the rest of the details tomorrow – what he should say, do, things like that."_

Yes, Claire deserved everything she got – and then some. So why did she feel guilty?


	5. Chapter 5

He arrived on time at Liz's office, located in an upscale residential neighborhood. A tasteful brass placard was the only indication that this was more than her residence. He rang the bell, and was immediately buzzed in. Liz stood in the wide entrance hall, on a Persian rug over gleaming hardwood. She wore casual business wear – khakis and a blue blazer over a white oxford, a scarf at her neck. Jack looked precisely as he had when he left Adam's office, like hell on two tired feet.

"Jack," Liz said, and her smile was fond. "Come on in. I have coffee." He followed her into a small, sunny room to the left, furnished with a few comfortable chairs and a leather couch. Bookcases and fine art covered the walls. The floor was carpeted in a charcoal gray, with flecks of red and green, matching the chairs. "Please, sit down. Coffee?"

Play the game, Jack, he thought. She'll scrutinize every move, word, nuance. A sardonic smile flitted across his lips while her back was turned, pouring coffee into fine china. I should fucked her when she wanted me, now she's got me by the balls and she's going to love it.

"Cream or sugar?" She gave him the coffee.

"No. Thanks. I'm a purist, I prefer it black."

Liz smiled, then paused to add both to her cup. "Sit, Jack. I won't bite."

Won't you, he thought, but he sat in the red chair, facing Liz, who sat in a leather recliner, with a deeply burnished side table next to it. A pad and pen waited. Liz sipped her coffee, then put the cup and saucer on the table and picked up the pad.

"It's just a conversation, Jack. You've needed to talk for a long time."

"What good does it do? It won't bring her back, and it only makes me feel worse."

"Maybe in the beginning, but as you begin exploring your emotions, you will feel better." She clicked the top of the ballpoint pen. "How much are you drinking?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. A lot, I guess, by some people's standards."

"There are other ways to numb the pain."

"I haven't found any. I wake up in the morning, still, and reach for her, and…." He sipped the coffee, it was very good. "I hear something she'd find funny and go back to the office, and Jamie Ross sits in her chair." He could not hide his bitterness.

"What do you think of Jamie?"

He shrugged again. "What's there to think? I don't know her, I just know her reputation. An excellent defense attorney, which I don't think proves helpful in this job. She stares at me when she thinks I'm not looking."

"I'm sure she's curious. Claire's death wasn't a secret, nor was your relationship."

"Why do people act like it's some alien event that I fell in love?" He looked for a place to put his coffee, he'd sipped enough that it shouldn't hurt her feelings. "I think everybody fell in love with Claire, in some form."

"She was a special person, yes. Do you think the relationship would have lasted? You are significantly older."

"Is that what all the curiosity is about?" He leaned down and put the coffee on the floor. "Yes, it would have lasted. We were going to have a child, we were committed to each other. Why is that such a shock?"

Liz's smile was practiced patience. "You don't exactly have a reputation for lasting commitment, Jack."

"Yeah, I know. If it wears a skirt and works for me, I'm going to bend her over my desk before the week is out." He snarled. "It wasn't like that with Claire, never was. Sure, I was attracted to her from the first time I saw her, when she worked for Ben Stone, but believe me, bending Claire Kincaid over a desk for a quickie did not, would not, could not happen."

"I know," Liz quietly said, as she made a notation. "I know she loved you. I know how good she was for you. And you for her. Do you accept that she's gone, Jack?"

"What kind of bullshit question is that? Of course I accept it, I was there when they buried her." He looked away. "I should have been there before she died."

Liz made another note. "So you feel guilty."

"Yes."

"And what's the common denominator? Why weren't you there before she died, and why aren't you truly here now?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"OK. Tell me about the baby. Were you looking forward to fatherhood at your age?"

He slumped in the chair, extending his long legs. "Yes. I wanted a child with her. She was so happy about it, and I couldn't help but be happy with her."

"So you planned the baby?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "No, not that it's any of your business." He leaned forward, arms on his knees, his dark eyes darker as he focused on Liz Olivet. "None of this is your business, Liz. I'm here because Adam ordered it. That doesn't mean I have to answer personal questions."

"Fair enough." Her body language was open, relaxed, and an understanding smile crossed her face. "Describe your life now."

Jack massaged his knees, struggling for the right words. "Upended."

She nodded. "Interesting adjective. Not destroyed, wrecked, ruined, but upended. Upside down, in other words. What are you doing to right it?"

He frowned. "It can't be fixed and you know that."

"But chasing down and pressing for the execution of drunk drivers somehow rights the scales."

"Yes."

"Do you ever drink and drive, Jack?"

He hesitated, then simply lied. "No. I won't drive after one drink."

Liz pretended to believe him, but she could smell the alcohol from her seat. Whether he'd been drinking already or it was last night's booze coming through his pores, she didn't press the issue. Her goal was to plant ideas, hoping they would take root, and he would regain his old sense of self. He's never had anything of meaning stolen from him before, she thought, and that's what he has to face. She took a slightly different tack. "If Claire was still alive, would you still be going full court press on Dressler?"

He thought for a second. "Yes. Three people died, Liz, and he isn't remotely remorseful."

"Was John Baumgarten?"

Jack stared at her. He remembered the man, standing by his attorney for sentencing, a fat, bearded man in a shirt one size too small and a skinny tie draped around his neck. Before he allocated, he turned and looked at Jack in the gallery, flanked by Lennie and Anita. Baumgarten's eyes were cold as he looked at Jack, then the cops, and then he turned back to face the judge. "I drank too much, watching the Knicks get whipped, lost a bundle. So I was pissed, and speeding. I never saw her, Judge. I surely didn't mean to kill her. I wish I could take it back, I'm very sorry." Twelve months at Mt. McGregor, the judge said, and Jack nearly lunged off the bench, restrained by Lennie's iron grip.

"Not at all," Jack finally said. "He was relieved at a light sentence, that's all. He said the appropriate words but they were empty. And I see that same lack of remorse in Dressler."

"So Dressler pays for his own sins, and John Baumgarten's, too?"

"If you want to look at it that way."

"How do you look at it?"

"That I'm doing my job, prosecuting a killer. Jamie argues he was too drunk to form intent, which is bullshit. He knew he was drunk when he got behind the wheel. All the intent I need."

"Be honest, would Claire agree with Jamie?"

Claire adamantly opposed the death penalty, the last day of her life had been marred by that issue. Anita told him, much later, how she agonized over what she'd seen, taken part in, and he forced himself to shut that out. "It's not Claire's case," he answered. "Are we done here?" He looked at his watch.

"Jack, it won't get better until you talk about it, get your feelings out. Your pain is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Who said anything about shame? I just think my pain is a private matter, and I'll work through it privately."

"It's not a private matter when you're taking it out on a defendant who had nothing to do with your loss."

He stood, he'd had enough of this. "Two families were shattered by that man, I know how that feels. Justice demands its due. I'm going to see to it they get justice."

"The justice you feel you were denied." She stood, too.

"It was Claire who was denied justice," he said, softly, sliding his hands in his pockets. "Denied a life, motherhood, all the things we take for granted as the natural course of events. And that punk doesn't feel the slightest fear, he thinks all of this will go away and he'll be free to continue to wreak havoc."

She realized he'd segued into Dressler but was talking about Baumgarten. She'd been at the allocution, too, everyone who ever worked with, knew, Claire Kincaid packed that courtroom. Something nagged at Liz that day, some vague perception that the man didn't seem concerned in the least, that he could do a year standing on his head, that it was all part of some plan. Liz chalked it up to grief, to seeing things that weren't there, but Baumgarten left the courtroom unbent, erect and confident. Jack left it discreetly supported by Lennie and Rey, then disappeared for a week.

She walked him to the door. "I'm here for you, Jack, when you're ready to talk, really talk about the pain, loss, and confusion. We can sort it out."

"Thank you, but I'll handle it. I'll get my head back in the game. You can tell Adam that."

"He cares."

"I know." Jack opened the door. "See you later, Liz." He walked out. A light drizzle fell, and Jack glanced at the sky. His mother once told him rain was God's tears, shed for the sins in the world. God. He didn't sneer, but he let the bitterness fill him. Where was God that night as it rained, crying over some other sin on the opposite side of the world?

He took a taxi home, no point in returning to the office. He locked himself into his empty apartment, tossed his keys on a table, and yanked his tie off. He hated the emptiness, perhaps that was why he allowed the clutter to accumulate, it gave the illusion of filling space. He undressed, then pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt. He glanced at the unmade bed, the pile of clothes he should get to the laundry, the stack of unopened underwear – it seemed easier to buy shorts in bulk rather than do laundry these days.

He poured a drink, then sat on the couch. He picked up the photograph of Claire and saluted it with his glass before sipping.

Oh, cut the shit, Jack. He dropped the picture in his lap and looked around, no way had he just heard Claire. All he saw were the shadows cast by a rainy afternoon. He looked at the picture, put it back on the table, propped his left ankle on his right knee, and sipped again.

If you're here, bring it on. He wasn't sure if he spoke aloud.

You'd keel over if I did.

Hah, he snorted. A ghost in my head is not going to scare me. C'mon, prove you're real.

For a half second he thought he saw the light waver in front of him, but he was tired and well on his way to getting loaded. Nothing to say? He sipped again.

Jack, I didn't want to leave you, and I hate seeing you like this. You could be a pompous ass sometimes, but in the end, you always did the right thing. Don't lose that because you lost me.

Been talking to Liz Olivet, have you?

He heard music, Simon and Garfunkel, I am a rock…I have no need of friendship, friendship causes pain…and he reached for the bottle, refilling his glass. Claire loved music. He gulped, sipping wasn't a high enough dosage for days like this. He wished he could talk to her, one more time, there was so much to say, but she died without ever hearing his words of regret, of love, of mortal pain. He was allowed a few minutes with her body, still warm, and he took her hand, bent and kissed her forehead, thinking, even in that terrible minute, of God. Be good to her, he warned, it's her first day. And then he let the tears fall, holding her dead hand, and feeling like he would never make it.

But I did make it, he thought, staring at his glass. I somehow got through it, the funeral, the well-meaning friends, and I'll get through the aftermath. I have to, for her if for no other reason. Nailing Dressler would somehow even the scales, and he could live with that.


	6. Chapter 6

Jamie's mind was made up. Talking to Jack's friends, she had a better handle on his suffering, and while Diana Hawthorne made her skin crawl, she had a sneaking suspicion that no one really knew the truth. It was a truth that would absolutely devastate Jack, but it might be the shock that brought him out of hell and gave him purpose again. He'd been better the past few days, not so quick to jump down her throat for the slightest deviation from his plans, and she had to use that as an opening. But what are you opening, she wondered. If her suspicions were correct, she was no doubt opening the door to an entirely fresh hell, but they couldn't be ignored. Diana Hawthorne was scheduled for release in two weeks, and would be in the wind immediately if Jamie's suspicions were right.

She looked at the outline on her legal pad. In block letters, at the top, she'd printed the question: did Diana Hawthorne set all this up? The ultimate revenge on the two people she hated most, Machivellian in its complexity, it was a frightening thought. She'd pulled Baumgarten's file – Diana represented him in an attempted rape case, a young girl he'd met on a jogging path in the park, asking if he could use her as a rabbit. It was a sunny day, plenty of people around, Susan Hall had no reason to be apprehensive. He was an overweight but decent looking guy, and she nodded as he fell into her pace. Jamie shivered. Susan had a narrow escape, but she was scarred nonetheless, and Diana Hawthorne got the bastard acquitted. An examination of prison visitor lists showed he went to Bedford several times, bringing cigarettes and other small gifts. Because Bedford was minimum security, there was open contact between the prisoners and their visitors, tables and chairs and the mayhem of playing children instead of plexiglass and monitored telephones.

She consulted the third point of her outline. On her last day, Claire had gone jogging in the park, where a slightly overweight man was seen talking to her as he tried to keep pace with her jog. No one ever thought to identify the man, he was simply a detail in the accounting of her last day on earth. He could be anybody. Yet Diana had known of Claire's pregnancy, a detail never released to the press, and the only visitors she had who would know that detail were John Gerald Baumgarten, a morgue tech who cleaned up after the ME's and was frequently nearby when Rodgers or another of the MEs dictated reports or briefed detectives, and a nurse from Diana's gynecologist, a woman Diana got off on charges of forging prescriptions for narcotic painkillers. She triple-checked, Diana and Claire had the same gynecologist, not surprising considering Jamie also went to Doctor Ann Campbell. Her clients were upwardly mobile women or older women well established and well connected. The nurse had access to all kinds of information. Jamie did the math yet again – Claire got pregnant about three weeks before the nurse was arrested for forgery and retained that classy defense attorney she knew from the office. And two weeks after the acquittal, Diana herself was arrested.

Jamie scratched her head. It was too much to believe, a string of coincidences, but Diana's words – uttered in another burst of fury as Jamie probed for information – "I'm sure she thought getting knocked up would trap Jack, too bad she didn't live to feel him dump her."

Jamie was taken aback by the venom in those words. "What happened to you, Diana?" she softly asked, trying not to cough at the cigarette smoke filling the attorney conference room.

"What happened?" Diana's laughter was frightening. "I was run off the road by a skinny broad who resented the hell out of me, my relationship with Jack McCoy. Fast and dirty, but that was nothing new for Kincaid." She cocked an eyebrow at Jamie. "Did you hear about the schizophrenic she cut a deal with, only to have him slaughter four or so people a few months later? Rumor had it Adam Schiff tried to can her ass over that one, but Jack intervened. Jack." She sneered. "Of course she got knocked up, she knew he'd do the right thing, Jesuit boy that he was. He wanted another child like he wanted a case of the clap."

"I don't think it was like that." Jamie attempted reason. "From all I've heard, they really did love each other."

Gasoline on a fire, Jamie thought, as Diana pushed away from the table. "He might have loved fucking her, she was pretty enough, but trust me, if he ever loved anyone, it was me. Look, Jamie, I've had enough of your questions. Am I sorry Claire Kincaid is dead? Hell no. I'm delighted, and I take great pleasure in the idea of Jack McCoy suffering. She was a manipulating bitch. And if Jack McCoy is feeling pain over her loss, so much the better. I think I'll buy the guy that killed her a steak dinner when he gets out."

Jamie looked at her watch. It was five-thirty, the office quieter as people left for the day. She sighed. This had to be done. Dressler went on the stand in two days, and if this didn't make Jack see reason, nothing would. She picked up her legal pad and pen, and walked to his office, knocking as she opened the door.

Jack was at his desk, scribbling on a legal pad. He looked at her and dropped then pen. "What," he said, and leaned back in his chair, locking his hands behind his head.

"We need to talk," she said, and she sat in the chair he still thought of as Claire's. She crossed her legs, the pad resting on her knee. "Really talk."

"About what." He reached down, into the drawer she knew held his scotch.

She waited until he'd poured a glass, declining his offer of one. "Claire Kincaid," she said.

He stared at her, eyes hard, a tick in his jaw. "And why would I want to talk about Claire with you?"

"Because I think she's the reason you want to stick a needle in Dressler's arm, badly enough that you've committed several ethical violations." She glanced at her pad but held back. "Tell me about her, Jack."

His glare softened, and he sipped his drink. "What's to tell?"

"A lot, apparently."

He drew in on himself, throwing up walls. "I loved her," he said. "I will always love her. But that has nothing to do with this case."

"Doesn't it? Twelve months at Mt. McGregor, it wasn't enough, was it?"

He sighed. "No. He should have been charged with the baby's death, too…" his voice trailed off. "I'd be a father about now," he said, and she realized this wasn't his first drink of the day. She listened. "She was so excited, once she'd gotten used to the idea. We were going to name him Adam if it was a boy, "Margot for a girl, one of her best friends was named Margot." He looked away from Jamie. "She was a terrific lawyer and was only going to get better. You should have seen her in action."

"I've heard." Jamie struggled for the courage to bring up the things she suspected. "Do you think she'd approve of this vendetta of yours?"

He considered the question. "I think so. She hated drunk drivers." He shrugged a shoulder.  
"But, to be truthful, she was anti-death penalty. And that," he said, drinking, "is why she died when you get down to it." He met Jamie's eyes. "You've been asking questions."

Of course he would hear about it, she thought, and shrugged.

"Questions that are none of your business."

"I need to understand a few things. Jack, I want you to listen to me, please, just listen and don't react until I'm finished."

"Go ahead." He poured more scotch.

"There's a possibility Claire's death was not an accident. Not only have I been talking to your friends and colleagues, but I've been to see Diana Hawthorne. She's gone off the deep end, and said a couple of things that got me thinking, asking more questions." She consulted her legal pad. "I think she had someone following Claire, I think it might have been that jogger she was seen with in Central Park that day. And that person waited until she left the bar and T-boned her, at Diana's orders."

"You're crazy. Baumgarten had nothing to do with Diana Hawthorne. Besides, Diana doesn't have it in her to do something like that."

"She represented him about a year before Claire died – I checked his file. He visited her several times at Bedford. She knew Claire was pregnant, and as you know, Baumgarten worked in the ME's office." She passed her legal pad across Jack's desk. "I don't think we can prove any of it, but it's possible it wasn't simply a drunk driver. What did Baumgarten blow?"

Jack frowned. "He was over the legal limit." He read Jamie's notes, his face growing red. Evidence of an internal struggle manifested on his face for several minutes before he finally looked up at Jamie. "I can't believe this. Diana was vindictive, certainly, but she couldn't have planned this. She was clever, but she never would have gone to these lengths on her own."

"I used to know her, Jack," Jamie said, "not when she worked with you, but after, when she was a successful defense attorney. I didn't even recognize her when she entered the visitor's room at Bedford – that's how much she's changed. I think she's capable of anything now… and, don't forget, she's done things like this before. Why else would she be in jail?"

Jack stood up from his seat, a bit unsteady on his feet as he paced around the room.

"How else would Diana have known Claire was pregnant if the nurse hadn't told her?" Jamie pressed on, taking his silence as permission to continue. "And was it merely coincidence that Baumgarten visited Diana several times in prison, the last visit occurring only a few days before…" she trailed off.

"But why would Baumgarten do it on purpose?" Jack asked. "What was in it for him? Why would he risk going back to jail for Diana?"

Jamie rummaged through her satchel, producing a thick file labeled "Hawthorne, Diana". Shuffling through the papers, she produced one which she then handed to Jack. He looked at it, then handed it back to her.

"Just tell me what it says – I don't have my glasses on."

Jamie put the paper back into the folder. "It lists the dates of Diana's conjugal visits," she stated calmly.

Jack looked at her in confusion. "But she wasn't married."

"No, she wasn't… but somehow she managed to arrange several for her and Baumgarten."

Jack collapsed on the couch. "So it is true," he said faintly. "I never would have thought…"

"It won't hold up in court, naturally," Jamie said. "It's all circumstantial. And I doubt if Baumgarten will testify. Even if he does, what jury will take him seriously? And Diana…"

"…won't testify either." Jack finished.

"She might be arrogant enough to accidentally confess," Jamie suggested.

Jack shook his head despondently. "She did that once – that's how she landed herself in jail. I doubt she'll do it again."

"It's worth a try, though, isn't it?"

He shrugged, taking another swig of his drink. As he stared into what remained of the amber liquid, Jamie quietly packed up her things.

"Good night, Jack," she said.

He did not look up from his glass as he said "good night" in response.


	7. Chapter 7

"Thanks, Paul. I'll see you at eight." Jamie hung up, then looked through the glass at Jack's closed door. She didn't know if he was there, or if he'd ducked out when she wasn't watching. She looked down at the legal pad and picked up her pen. Watch, she thought, I've tried to watch him, God knows. He's not taking this well. She'd seen Van Buren, Briscoe, and Curtis file into his office early that morning, but, uninvited, she was clueless as to what was said. All she did know was they left an hour later, each face dark with emotions – anger, shock, bewilderment.

She would meet Paul Robinette and the elusive Ben Stone in a few hours. Paul was the one who pointed her to Ben. He told her Ben slipped back into town for Claire's funeral and was still in New York, though he preferred that not to be known. She'd heard stories about Ben, had faced him twice in court, but he was as much a puzzle as Jack. Tonight, she hoped, more pieces would fit together. She finished her notes, checked her watch, and turned to another file. So much to do, she thought, with Dressler coming up, and either Jack would commit career suicide or he'd pull it together. It was out of her hands in some respects. Realizing there was little she'd accomplish in the next couple of hours, she cleared her desk, then walked across the hall.

She knocked softly. No answer. She tried the door, it opened, and she looked into the empty office. Jack, she thought, oh God, Jack. Where are you, and what are you doing?

Jack was sitting in his apartment, in his underwear, drinking and staring at Claire's picture in the fading light. "Is it true?" he asked aloud, knowing there would not be an answering voice. In his mind, he saw Claire amble out of the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand and a teasing smile all she wore. Don't try to kill him for me, Jack, she said as she sat in his lap, it will seriously piss me off.

Jack shut his eyes, rubbed them, and, opening them again, saw the emptiness. He knew these visions were imaginary, but at the same time, they were a little scary. He wondered what Liz Olivet would say. He sipped. It was always the same thing, some imaginary, quick glimpse of his past life, a tantalizing invitation into what was and what might be if he simply let go and joined her. He knew precisely what Liz Olivet would say on that subject. And thank you very much for asking, but a tour of Bellevue's mental ward was not on his to do list.

_Get a grip, Jackie boy._ He sat up, fists on his knees. She was the only one who ever called him that, and only in the aftermath of sweaty sheets and less than ladylike commentary and directions. A smile broke free on his face, and he sipped his drink, relaxing back on the couch. " I miss you," he said, "so much I sometimes think it's going to kill me." _I know,_ she whispered in his ear. He swore he felt her settle next to him on the couch, but he was afraid to look, to break this moment, real or not. _It will get better, I promise. But what you're doing to this man, Jack, killing him as some kind of justice for me is not the way to go. Justice lies in other directions. Go that route. Yes, make this man pay for what he did, but don't go for the death penalty._ Jack wiped a tear from his eye, his mental jukebox suddenly playing "Ferry Cross the Mersey." His mental VCR played memories, he and Claire on the ferry, going to see Mike Logan; the wind blowing her hair, a blue and white cup of coffee in her hand, an anticipatory smile on her face. She'd always liked Logan, sometimes he was jealous of the friendship between them. Logan was good looking and much closer in age, but then Claire would sense the budding emotion in Jack and touch him – a hand on his knee under the table, or lean against him for a moment on the office couch, nothing noticeable to anyone but Jack. He drained his scotch and refilled the glass.

"You want me to take the needle out of his arm," he said, finding it oddly normal to be talking to a dead woman, he did it often enough.

_Yes. You know how I feel on that subject. And he has nothing to do with me._

"Diana?" The mental jukebox switched, he heard the strains of George Harrison's guitar and then "While My Guitar Gently Weeps."

_Yes. Diana and whomever. I don't suddenly know all the answers, Jack. I just know I'm OK, this place is cool, and I'm watching over you. Which reminds me, Jesuit boy, the way you ride that motorcycle – didn't those priests teach you suicide is a mortal sin? _He heard the teasing in her voice.

"I want to be with you."

_And you will be, when the time comes, whenever that is. You can't hurry the process._

"Our baby?" He drank, he didn't want to think about that, but the question forced itself free of the dark musings in his mind.

_A little boy. I'm not going to try and explain this place, I can't. You always trusted me, trust me now. Let it go, Dressler I mean, and get on with your life. Find someone who will make you happy._

"Easier said than done."

The phone rang, and he cursed, it broke the connection he had at the moment, but he reached for it. "McCoy," he snarled.

"Jack, it's Jamie." She took a deep breath. "Look, I'm meeting Paul Robinette and Ben Stone in an hour, do you want to join us?"

He looked at the glass in his hand and thought about meeting straight, sober Ben. Oh fuck it, he thought, if Ben knows anything, I want to hear it. "Yeah, OK."

"Uh, Jack? You might want to stop drinking until then." He heard concern in her voice, not censure.

"Gotcha. Where are you meeting them?"

She gave him the address of an upscale bar and urged him to take a taxi. He said he would, and hung up. He realized whatever connection he'd had with Claire, imaginary or not, was gone, and he sighed. He put the glass aside and struggled up to shower. As hot water poured over his head, he thought about what the ghost in his head said, about taking the needle out of Dressler's arm, for her, and he knew he would if he saw even a flicker of remorse in the man's eyes. He'd lost Claire, he didn't want to lose the things that made her love him, like his integrity, for one. He let the tears flow in the shower, tears held back for so long, sobbing over what he'd lost. Cleansed, emotionally and physically, he turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel. He focused on Diana Hawthorne, and the hatred that filled him was so overpowering he stopped, letting the emotion run through him, and when it ran its course, dried the last of his long body and dressed.

Jamie walked into the bar, her eyes searching for Paul. She saw him at a booth near the back, and wove through the crowd. The two men stood as she approached the booth.

"Jamie Ross, Ben Stone." Paul smiled.

Jamie shook hands with both men before shedding her coat and sliding into the booth next to Ben. "I asked Jack to join us. He's not taking this well at all, he may not be sober."

Ben glanced at Paul. "I understand, perhaps more than you realize. I saw him at the funeral, the internment. He's the last person I expected to see broken, I wanted to reach out, but knew he'd push me away." Ben shrugged. "I'm not sure how much help I can be, but whatever I have, it's yours."

Jamie heard the door and glanced up. Jack walked in, dressed in jeans and a burgundy sweater, and she waved. He nodded and pushed his way through the crowd. He sat next to Paul. "Paul, Ben, Jamie." He looked around for a waitress.

He looks terrible, Jamie thought, and I guess I can't blame him. The waitress came up and they ordered a round. As they waited, Jamie cleared her throat and turned to Ben. "As Paul may have told you, there's cause for believing Diana Hawthorne was behind what happened to Claire, nothing concrete, just a string of coincidences and a couple of remarks she let slip."

Ben looked at Jack, the sympathy in his eyes palpable. "How are you, Jack?"

Jack met Ben's gaze, the walls going up as he protected the pain that was his. "I'm hanging on," he said. "Working. You know how that is."

"I do, sir. I also know grief."

The drinks arrived, delaying Jack's response to Ben's opening probe. "Then you understand that it's a private matter, Ben."

"Yes, it is, but sometimes friends can help. I cared about her, too, Jack."

"I know." Jack sipped his scotch. "Diana," he said, steering the conversation away from the woman they'd both loved and Jack won.

"The question," Jamie began, "is how we begin to prove a conspiracy, and from there, to the act itself."

"I have Briscoe and Curtis on that," Jack said. "If anyone can dig up dirt, it's those two, and they have a personal interest in digging deeply."

"Do you have anything she said on tape?" Ben asked.

Jamie shook her head. "No. I wasn't expecting anything like that. Blew me away," she added, glancing at Jack.

"It's my guess that she would find it hard to resist gloating, in some oblique way, to Jack," Ben said.

"And it's my guess that I'd strangle her on the spot," Jack snarled.

Jamie frowned at him. "You're determined to commit career suicide one way or the other. Why?"

"Why not?" He looked at her, then at Ben. "You resigned when you got that witness killed, you felt the guilt and pain at an innocent life taken, did running away help?"

Ben drew a deep breath and turned his glass on his base. "No. One doesn't put a destroyed life back together that easily, Jack. You can't run away from yourself, nor can you bury the pain in drink, because it comes back twice as hard in the morning."

Jack responded by draining half the scotch in his glass. "Suggesting AA to me in your oblique way, Ben?"

Ben's smile was patient. "No. I'm saying I've been down the road before you."

"You weren't in love with that woman, she wasn't having your child. You didn't say 'the hell with her' and bail out on her, leaving her to take Briscoe home instead of you."

"I did none of those things," he admitted. "But isn't it time to climb out of that pit and seek justice for Claire?"

Jamie realized she and Paul had faded to deep background, that these two men, who loved Claire Kincaid, were connecting on some level she didn't understand but didn't want to break. She watched, sipping wine, glancing at Paul from time to time as Ben talked about strategy for nailing Diana Hawthorne to the wall. Jack reminded him time was the factor they couldn't control, they didn't have enough to keep her incarcerated fifteen minutes longer.

"I'm out of the game," Ben said. "I can do things you can't. Will you let me help?"

Jack shrugged. "Yes. Anything to nail that woman, to make her pay."

"Then we shall do our best. But." He looked at Jack, and Jack met his gaze. "You have to pull yourself together, Jack. You're a hell of a prosecutor, Mr. McCoy, but right now you're a wreck, even I see that, and I don't know you all that well."

Jack shrugged. "I'll try." He pushed his empty glass away. He looked at Jamie and couldn't help thinking it should be Claire sitting there.

Ben picked up on it. "But it's not," he said, softly, and Jack's eyes bored into his. "We buried her, Jack, she's gone, and all we can do is seek justice for her. We both know how she would feel on the subject."

Jack nodded, biting his tongue, refusing to say 'yeah, all you did was talk.' Wounding Ben was unnecessary and cruel. There'd been enough wounding to go around, he thought, reflecting on the lives impacted by the killing of Claire Kincaid. "You ever talk to her in your head, Ben?" he asked, so softly that Ben was the only one who heard him.

"I do."

"And does she answer back?"

He smiled, a sad, wistful thing that pierced Jack as he realized how deeply this man grieved, too. "No. Does she answer you?"

Jack's answer was to order another drink. He would never admit to anyone that he had a ghost in his head who simply would not go away, that he didn't want her to go away, that imaginary conversation was better than nothing.

"I'll go see Diana in the morning," Ben said.

"Won't that telegraph our knowledge, that we're on to her and looking into it?"

Ben looked at Jamie. "Perhaps. And perhaps that's a good thing. Scared people make mistakes. And I'll go in wired."

Jamie looked at Jack. He was watching, listening, knowing he couldn't go anywhere near Diana, or they'd be prosecuting him. "If you think that's the way to go. Dressler takes the stand in the morning." She looked pointedly at Jack, who shrugged. "I'm going to take Jack home, you'll let me know?"

"I will, Miss Ross. Good luck tomorrow." He looked at Jack. "I'm here for you, if you want to talk."

"Thanks, Ben." He drained his drink, then got up when Jamie did, willing to be shepherded home by this assistant, instead of the one who came to perform the same task, only to find he'd bailed on her, leaving her to die.

Jamie got him into her car, then headed toward his apartment. "Are you going to be all right?"

He looked at her and smiled, an easy, fond smile. "Yes, Mommy."

"And tomorrow?"

"We'll see what happens tomorrow." He looked straight ahead. "I'll be there, on time, and ready. And then, once this business is concluded, I'm going after Diana."

"I know. I want to help you."

He looked at her again, cocking his head. "Why? You didn't know Claire."

"But I've talked to enough people that I feel I do. And I do know you. I don't want to see you go down in flames."

"Literally or metaphorically?"

She smiled. "Both. Jack, I'm the first to say I've never lost anyone I loved like that, so I'm not arrogant enough to say I understand your pain. I don't. I think Ben Stone is closest to understanding what you're going through."

He caught her implication and bristled a little. "I don't need to talk to anyone." He bit his bottom lip. "No, that's not true. I need to talk to Claire, but I can't."

It's only been a few months, she reminded herself, he hasn't had time to heal, be patient. "You can still talk to her. When my father died, I talked to him all the time, and I felt like he was there, listening."

Jack nodded. "Turn left at the next light," he said. When she stopped in front of his building, he unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face her. "Thanks. For the ride, for trying to help. Now get some sleep and let's be ready for tomorrow." He got out and she watched him walk inside, then pulled away to go home and get some needed sleep.

Jack undressed and tossed his clothes on the floor. He could almost hear Claire chiding him, but he didn't care. He crawled into bed, his head spinning, and turned on his side, facing the empty side of the bed. "Make sure I do the right thing," he whispered before passing out.

And then he saw it, that genuine remorse in Dressler's eyes, and he felt Claire so powerfully he took a step backward. _Now, do it now, do the right thing_ she whispered. And he did. All hell broke loose with the judge, but Jack knew he'd done what Claire wanted, and that was all he needed to know. He'd deal with the consequences if and when they came. The needle was out of Dressler's arm, and Jack felt oddly OK with that. Jamie was happy, which touched him.

Ben Stone waited for them at the office. Once inside Jack's office, he sat on the couch and looked from Jamie to Jack. "She did it," he said. "I'm not sure we'll be able to prove it, but she did it, she arranged for Claire to die." He couldn't conceal the anger in his voice. "I've asked Adam to appoint me special prosecutor, to convene a grand jury, and he's agreed. I'll be moving into an office two doors down." He looked at Jack with great kindness. "Obviously, you can't prosecute her, but I promise, I will give you, give Claire, justice. It may not be easy, she's a crafty witch, but I'm going after her with everything I have."

"And you have a lot, Ben," Jack admitted. "You were a hell of a good prosecutor."

"Thank you. You have to stay out of this, Jack, except when I call you as a witness."

"I know. I will. But, I do expect to be kept in the loop."

"Every step of the way." Ben got up. "I have work to do." He offered his hand to Jack. "You did the right thing today."

Jack nodded as he shook Ben's hand. "I did it for Claire," he said, softly, for Ben's ears only. Ben nodded.

"I'll be in touch soon."

When he was gone, Jack sank in his chair and looked at a framed picture of Claire on his desk. He felt tears well in his eyes, and he turned away from Jamie, she would not see him cry. Under control again, he got up and faced her.

"I'm taking the afternoon," he said. "I need to be alone."

She nodded. "I'll tell Adam."

He collected his things, held his helmet under his arm. "I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks." He left the office, running really, in his mind, from memories, the office had too many fresh memories of the aftermath of victories and defeats, shared with Claire. He drove with his now usual carelessness through traffic to his building, and took refuge in his apartment. He changed into sweatpants and a tee shirt, then poured a drink and saluted the air with his glass. "For you," he said, "and now I'm going to get real justice for you. Loving you made me a better man, and I don't want to lose that, please don't let me lose that." He put a CD on, then settled on his couch, content to live in memories for the rest of the day, it was the only way he could be with her again unless he rode in front of a bus.

Outside the rain began, God's tears for the world.


	8. Chapter 8

If Ben Stone felt odd being back at Hogan Place, he didn't show it. A steady stream of people passed Jack's office, on their way to Ben's – the police detectives and Van Buren, witnesses from the bar where Jack spent the afternoon of Mickey Scott's execution, people Jack could not identify. He tried his best to ignore them, to keep his head down and into the new case he'd caught, knowing Ben would come in around six and brief him on the day's interviews.

It was a ritual already, these briefings. Ben would close the door, Jack would pull out the scotch, and they would speak of what he'd learned, what he planned. And then they would drink to Claire. Jack knew that eventually Ben would probe into his grief, perhaps seeking to share his own. Jamie never joined them, and Jack felt no pressing need to invite her in to this male bonding, though Adam popped in a time or two, perhaps he felt a referee might be needed. Instead he found two men bound by a common purpose, so he left them to it.

At precisely six, Ben stepped into Jack's office. Jack pushed away from his desk and rose, extending his hand. As Ben took it, he said, "Long day, Jack."

Jack sat again and reached for the scotch. He poured, gave Ben a glass, and said "Tell me about it."

Ben sank on the couch, he avoided the chair next to Jack's desk, somehow sensing that was Claire's chair. "I've found six witnesses to put Diana together with John Baumgarten, two of whom were close enough to overhear their conversation. I can prove a conspiracy. I'm convening a grand jury tomorrow. I'll be calling you. Can you handle that? I'll be asking some difficult questions."

"Such as why I left her?"

Ben nodded. "So you want to tell me about that?"

Jack leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Then he opened them and leaned forward, reaching for his glass. "I've asked myself that a thousand times. I was drunk, as Briscoe will confirm." The pain on his face was hard for Ben to see, for he felt his own pain, but he kept a neutral expression on his face, encouraging Jack to talk of that night. "We'd been fighting, it seemed nonstop from the moment Mickey Scott expired. Going into the work the next morning, she told me she wasn't feeling well, I assumed it was morning sickness, amongst other things, so I told her to take the day and got out of the car." He drained his glass. "I was damned good at bailing that day." He refilled his glass and offered the bottle to Ben, who got up for a refill. "I tried calling her all day. Then I ended up in that bar, and I stayed. I paged her, she called back, and she said she'd come pick me up. She took her time about it, and I got pissed, so I left. You know the rest."

"You know I'll have to ask questions about your personal relationship, as well as the one you had with Diana."

Jack nodded. "Tread lightly there, Ben."

"As lightly as possible when it comes to Claire." He glanced at Jack's loosened tie knot and wished he was casual enough to do the same, but something in him resisted such sloppiness, as he viewed it. Perhaps that was what drew Claire to Jack instead of himself, Jack was freer of constraints. "Jack." His awkward tone caught the other man's ear and he focused on Ben. "She loved you. I—" he cut himself off, no need to open his own wounds.

Jack felt Ben's pain. "She did," he said, softly. "She used to tease me that she loved me from the first glimpse of my butt, when she walked in the office. I was bent over, looking for something in that cabinet." He gestured with his glass. His personal jukebox kicked in, "Do You Believe in Magic?" played. God, his psyche could be so vicious.

"She never teased me. I was always so damned serious, and she was so damned young. I was afraid to let my hair down, so to speak. And I'm well aware I lack that quality you have, that sexiness, as women call it." He sighed. "When I heard that you were having an affair, I thought it was McCoy up to his usual sport with assistants, and I was pissed. And then I heard it was really love, but I didn't believe it until the funeral."

"I didn't see you there," Jack said, a note of apology in his voice.

"You didn't see much that day." Ben sipped, glancing around the office, wondering how Jack maintained, returning to this place of so many memories, day after day. "To be truthful, sir, I've never seen such a broken man."

Jack flushed, had anyone else said that the conversation would have ended. "I'm still broken, Ben," he finally said, "and I don't know how to fix things. Adam's warned me, if I don't get my shit together, he's going to can me."

"I felt very much the same after…" he hesitated. "Getting a witness killed through my own arrogance, that does something to one's soul."

"Too much Jesuit education in this room," Jack said, and he refilled their glasses again. Then he sat on the couch with Ben, at the opposite end. "I can take your questions about Claire, Ben, on the stand. Anything to get Diana, get justice for Claire."

Ben looked at him, evaluating the man and his mood. "She talks to you, doesn't she? She doesn't speak to me."

Jack flushed a deep red. "I have memories, Ben, they replay, of course I hear her voice in those."

Ben nodded. "Those, unfortunately, will fade with time. They won't go away completely, but they will fade. I know." Jack heard the bitterness in his voice. "Well. We must concentrate on the grand jury. I'm calling Liz Rodgers first, to establish what happened in that car. Do you want me to ask about the pregnancy? That two people actually died in that car?"

Jack's expression was grim. "We both know the State doesn't recognize the fetus as a person."

"But a lot of people do. It's your call, Jack, it was your child."

"What do you think, what would you do if this wasn't so personal?"

"I'd ask. I'd play on the grand jury's feelings."

"And rumor had it you had a conscience." Jack grinned.

"I liked to win as much as you do," Ben replied, a small smile playing with his lips.

"I'll leave it in your hands, I know you'll do the right thing."

Ben nodded. "And I know you'll read the transcripts. I don't want to wound you any further."

"I appreciate your concern. But if you think that fact will help bring an indictment, go for it." His jukebox switched tunes yet again, Sounds of Silence. He wondered how to disconnect the damned thing.

Ben finished his drink and got up. Jack stood and took Ben's empty glass. "Rely on your friends, hard as that may be," he said, "they'll help you get through this. Ms. Ross desperately wants to help."

"I know, but how do I talk to her about Claire? It means telling her how much I resent seeing her in Claire's office, in Claire's chair…"

"You don't think she already knows?"

"I hadn't thought about it, to be truthful."

"Let her help, talk to her. She doesn't have the emotional connection to Claire, and that's what you need now. Someone who doesn't have feelings of their own to consider."

Jack nodded. He walked Ben to the door, and looking across the hall, saw Jamie still at her desk, looking back at him. He took a deep breath. Ben knew what he was talking about, he'd been in the same deep hole of grief and pain, still was to some extent, loving Claire as he had. Jack felt his stomach contract, but he jerked his head, beckoning Jamie. She got up at once.

He closed the door after her. He put away the scotch, then leaned on his desk. "I'd like to talk to you," he said, almost strangling on the words, "but I can't do it here. Would you like to come to my place for awhile?"

Jamie concealed her shock, what had Ben said? "Of course," she said. "Now?"

He nodded.

"Let me clear my desk, five minutes max."

He nodded again. "I'm leaving now, I'll try to restore some order to the place."

"Don't worry about that. I'll be there as quickly as I can."

Jack went to his clothing rack, and Jamie left. He changed into jeans, yanked off his tie, and pulled a sweater over his head. He grabbed his helmet and left, leaving his briefcase. Work would not come home with him tonight.

He managed to clear some of the clutter before she knocked on his door. He let her in, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He poured drinks, leaving the bottle on the coffee table, something Claire always found tacky, but Claire was gone. He put a CD in to short-circuit his internal jukebox, and settled on the couch, God that couch, with Jamie, each taking an end and leaving a wide space between them. She understood.

"I want," he began, choking on his words and swallowing scotch to clear his throat, "to talk about Claire. So you'll understand what's driving me, and to some extent, Ben."

Jamie took a delicate sip. "I'm listening."

Jack smiled. "I know. This is so hard." He sipped as "Norwegian Wood" poured through his speakers. "She was wonderful, but she did have her faults, like all of us. She had a hell of a temper, but it took a lot to trigger it, but boy, when you did, take cover." He grinned, remembering pissing her off, you motherfucking son a bitch she yelled. Lady by day, courtesan by night, the perfect combination, but oh man, make her mad and you'd really hear it. "Like you, she hated the death penalty, we fought like hell over the Sandig case, and then, there was Mickey Scott, as you well know. But mostly, it was so good. I could not believe she'd come into my life, that I'd been given such a gift. I thought it would last forever, that we'd raise our son and grow old at uneven rates." That smile came again, wistful and sad, and it broke Jamie's heart. "No one expects a healthy twenty-nine year old to die. I know, we deal with such things every day, but no one expects it to happen to them. Thinking it was an accident was bad enough, but this…"

"We'll get her, Jack. Ben's been keeping me in the loop, he's asked me to be his second chair, since I didn't know Claire."

"You would have liked her."

"I think I would. Ruthie Miller has told me she had this great raucous laugh, that away from the office, she was loose and fun and laughed a lot, but in court, she was all business, and damned good at it."

"She and Ruthie were friends. Ruthie teased her unmercifully about having a child, and then when Claire told her the unexpected happened, Ruthie became this Jewish mother." Again, that smile, and Jamie wondered what it was costing him to talk of these things. "It's very hard for me to see you where she was, I hope you understand that it's not personal."

"I do. Van Buren said I look a little bit like her, and she thought Adam was out of his mind to hire me."

Jack shook his head. "I don't see it, if that helps." He finished his drink and leaned over for the bottle. "She had this vulnerability, she'd been deeply hurt by her mother, one of those wounds that won't heal, and it ate at her sometimes, especially around holidays. She didn't tell her mother about the baby, which was fine with me."

"You think about that baby a lot, don't you?"

He shrugged. "I guess. She was ambivalent at first, then quickly grew to love the idea, and if she was happy, I was happy. Ben wants to bring the pregnancy up in the grand jury, play on their feelings by implying two people died that night."

"Are you OK with that?"

He nodded. "I trust Ben's instincts. And right now he's circling for the kill, Diana has no idea what she's up against. I have a feeling he's going to make me look like a piker in comparison." He cleared his throat. "That jury needs to know Claire, understand what was taken from this world, and hold Diana accountable. We can't retry Baumgarten on her death, but we can on a conspiracy charge. And Ben will get it, he's running on anger and pain, but much better at controlling it than I am."

"Do you talk to him?"

He looked at her, weighing the meaning behind the question. "Sometimes," he said. "We both loved her, I won her, that's kind of awkward, but it's that love that sharpens the two of us when it comes to this. Diana's not going to know what hit her when Ben's done with her, and all I can feel is gratitude."

"You know you'll have to testify."

He nodded. "I can do it. I'll just have to believe she's with me, holding me up."

"You talk to her a lot?"

He cocked his head, then remembered what she said about talking to her father. "I do. All the time."

"Does it help?"

He shrugged. "You know the answer to that as well as I do."

"Don't you think she'd tell you to move on?"

He nodded, surprised that remark didn't anger him. "It's going to take time. A few months ago, she was sitting on this couch, laughing at some silly thing we'd heard that day." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he focused on Jamie. "You're going to have to be patient with me, Jamie. I have to find my way through a world without Claire."

"I know. I don't think drinking is the answer, though."

"Something has to numb the pain."

"But does it?"

"Sometimes." He remembered a conversation with Claire, when she implied he drank too much sometimes. It could have turned into an argument, but instead it became a ticklefest, then love. On that couch. He got up, moving away from Jamie and the memories of Claire beneath him on that damned couch. He walked to his desk, to a picture of Claire hanging on the wall. He turned from it, forcing himself to focus on his guest, he didn't want to break down in front of her.

"Jack."

Her soft voice brought him back, he sat down and looked at her.

"It's OK. Even strong men cry."

That did it. Memories of Claire flooded his mind, twisted his heart, and he did cry, gentle tears rolling down his cheeks. Jamie didn't move, she sensed touching him right now was the wrong thing to do. When he seemed dry, he rubbed his face and reached for his glass. "I'm lost," he said.

"I know. But you will find your way, I promise, and I'll help if you'll let me. I'll be in the grand jury room, I'll keep you informed, and I know Ben will."

"Has Ben cried in front of you?"

She smiled. "Once. I think a memory storm hit him, too, but like you, he feels strong men don't cry, especially in front of women. I doubt any man will cry over me," she said, a quiet compliment to the woman who once sat on this couch and made this alpha male happy. She looked at her watch. "I need to get home to Katie, but I want you to know I'm here for you, you can call at any hour. We'll get her, Jack."

A thought hit him then. "How can you be second chair if you're going to be a witness to the things Diana said to you?"

"Ben and I talked about that. He thinks he has enough on tape that her spontaneous remarks to me are unnecessary. If, after the grand jury, he thinks he'll need me, he'll replace me." She got up. "And the grand jury opens tomorrow, I better get rolling. Will you be OK?"

He stood. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Anytime. And I mean that. Meaningless and repetitive as it sounds, it will get better, it takes time, that's all. Pour all your pain and grief into getting Diana, not to mention the cases we've caught. I hear Adam's given you a rookie to try out as second chair."

He nodded. "Yeah, some brass-balled dude named Cutter. We'll see how that works out."

"I'm still right across the hall," she said.

"Thanks." He walked her to the door, and when she was gone, he locked himself in. He changed the CD, turned on a lamp, and refilled his glass. He paced, he knew this restlessness well. "Will she help me find my way back?" he asked.

Silence. He shrugged, sat on the couch. "Rest well, my love, I wish I could."

That merry laugh rang in his ears. _You were born a restless spirit, Jack. Let Ben do his thing, and you concentrate on moving forward, on letting go. You have a great assistant, in time she'll help you see past the past. Get some sleep, Jesuit boy, you aren't alone, even if you feel that way._

He missed that voice, that body, that soul that meshed with his, and he thought again about joining her. Yes, the Jesuits taught that suicide was a mortal sin, but being run over by a bus in New York City hardly qualified as suicide, he thought, as Summer in the City came pouring out of his speakers. He finished his drink and then went into his bedroom, undressing, and crawled into bed, hugging the pillow that had been hers, and once again passed out, the music in the living room still playing.


	9. Chapter 9

Ben leaned over Jamie, sitting at the second chair's table. "Are we ready?" he asked. "We have one shot at this, don't let me mess up."

Jamie smiled. "You won't mess up, Ben. You've got all the ducks in a row."

He straightened up. "Let's get the show on the road." He moved to his podium and signaled that he was ready. The bailiff went for the first witness in this special grand jury proceeding.

Liz Rodgers walked in, dressed conservatively in a suit. She was sworn in after sitting in the box, and faced Ben attentively, hiding the personal, all professionalism.

"Ma'am, you performed the autopsy on Claire Kincaid, correct?" He asked, after asking her to state her name and profession.

"I did."

"And what were your conclusions?"

"She died of multiple blunt force trauma."

"Any secondary conclusions?"

"She was a healthy twenty-nine year old female, eight weeks pregnant. She suffered massive injuries to the brain, not to mention a crushed rib cage, broken pelvis, shattered knees."

"So naturally the baby died with her."

"Of course."

"I have no further questions of this witness." He looked at the grand jurors, waiting to see if any of them had a question. When they didn't, Liz left the witness box. Ben returned to Jamie's table. "Briscoe's ready for this?"

"As ready as he can be. Be gentle with him, Ben," Jamie cautioned.

Ben nodded, and Lennie Briscoe was summoned. After being sworn in, Ben approached him. "Sir, would you state your name and profession for the jury?"

"Leonard Briscoe, I'm a detective first grade with the twenty-seventh precinct in New York City."

"And you were with Claire Kincaid when the wreck occurred?"

"I was."

"Can you describe the circumstances?"

"She was giving me a ride home, and this truck ran a red light and T-boned the car."

"By T-boned, you mean smashed into the middle section of the car?"

"Yes. Ms. Kincaid took the full force of the impact."

"Did she die immediately?"

"No. She died about an hour later at Hudson Medical Center."

"Why did Ms. Kincaid give you a ride home?"

Lennie drew a breath. "Actually, she was there to pick up someone else, but he'd grown tired of waiting. She saw me, realized I was drunk, and offered me a ride."

"Sounds like a lot of drinking was going on."

"It was the day Mickey Scott was executed. None of us took it well, I guess you could say, witnessing his execution. Mr. McCoy had been at the bar hours before I wandered in."

"Mr. McCoy?"

"The person she came to pick up."

"You survived with minor injuries, correct?"

"Yes. The vehicle seemed to take aim at her, her side of the car, as it accelerated and slammed into us."

"What makes you draw that conclusion?"

"Over twenty years on the force."

"But you were intoxicated. Could your perceptions be skewed?"

"Counselor, when you see this massive Dodge Ram accelerate through a red light and aim for you, you don't skew your assumptions. You wait to die."

"Yet it was ruled an accident."

"At the time, yes."

"Has new evidence been uncovered to change your opinion?"

Lennie looked at the grand jury, then at Ben. "Yes. Ms. Kincaid was an assistant district attorney for New York County, she was instrumental in putting a lot of people in prison. We've since learned that one of those people conspired with the driver of the Dodge Ram truck to lie in wait and then hit the car."

"Can you elaborate, sir?" Ben turned to look at the grand jury.

"We've uncovered evidence – taped conversations, visits and meetings, between a prisoner named Diana Hawthorne and John Baumgarten, the driver of the Dodge Ram truck. There are witnesses who can testify to their conversations."

"So, in your opinion, given these new facts, this was no drunken driving accident?"

"Absolutely not. Baumgarten blew a point eight, barely over the legal limit. He was convicted of vehicular manslaughter and sentenced to twelve months at Mt. McGregor. Had we known then what we know now, he would have been charged with capital murder."

"I have no further questions for this witness," Ben said, and turned to the grand jury. One woman stood, and Ben said, "Yes, ma'am?"

"I was just wondering, with all the drinking going on, was Ms. Kincaid drinking, too?"

"Mr. Briscoe?"

Lennie frowned. "No, she was not. She was pregnant, she wouldn't have done anything to endanger that child." He emphasized the word 'child.'

"Thank you, Mr. Briscoe."

Lennie left the box and looked at Ben, gratitude mixed with sorrow in his eyes. Ben consulted with Jamie again.

"How did that go?"

She looked at him, surprised at his uncertainty. "Very well, Ben. Jack's next. Are you ready?"

"Yes. He and I have talked our way through this. I think he'll hold together." He stepped back to his podium, and soon Jack McCoy walked to the witness box to be sworn.

Ben approached. "Sir, would you state your name and occupation for the jury?"

"John McCoy, Executive Assistant District Attorney for New York County."

"And how did you know Ms. Kincaid?"

"She was my assistant."

"There has been previous testimony that you were the one she came to the bar to pick up. Is that true?"

"It is. I grew tired of waiting and I took a cab."

"Was your relationship with Ms. Kincaid strictly professional?"

Jack drew a deep breath. "No, it was not. We were involved, romantically."

"So why didn't you wait for her?"

"We'd been arguing all day. We'd witnessed an execution earlier, she was adamantly opposed to the death penalty, and she had a hard time dealing with it. So we parted ways the next morning, I told her to take the day off. I thought she was having a bad bout of morning sickness on top of all the emotional upheaval stemming from the execution. I tried to reach her several times during the morning, gave up, and took the afternoon off. I ended up in a strange bar in a working class district, where I proceeded to get intoxicated. I finally reached her that evening and she said she'd come by and get me."

Ben hesitated, then said, "You've testified you were romantically involved, that you thought she was suffering from morning sickness. Were you the father of her child?"

"I was." There was a catch in his voice. "We had such plans. This wreck not only took the love of my life, it took my child."

"Are you acquainted with Diana Hawthorne?"

Jack frowned. "I am. She was my assistant at one time."

"Was she more than that?"

"We became lovers. It ended years before I met Ms. Kincaid."

"And some months ago, you learned that Ms. Hawthorne committed a crime, leading to the conviction of an innocent man. You pressed for her prosecution?"

"I did. Ms. Kincaid did the actual prosecuting. It ended with a deal, Ms. Hawthorne would do six months in Bedford and surrender her license."

"And, as the EADA for major felonies, have you learned of any facts that would lead you to believe that Ms. Hawthorne then engaged in a conspiracy to kill Ms. Kincaid?"

"I have. I've heard the tapes, read transcripts of witness interviews. Ms. Hawthorne was bent on revenge on Ms. Kincaid for ruining her life, as she saw it."

"But not you?"

"It appears not, at least not directly. Although I can speculate that she assumed I'd be in that car, too. I would have been if I hadn't been pissed off because Claire took so long in coming to pick me up." The pain and regret in his voice was obvious. "Claire was stalked and slain out of revenge."

"What makes you say she was stalked?"

"There are witnesses to a man we've identified as John Baumgarten showing up in places where Claire was, including Central Park the day she died."

"And John Baumgarten drove the truck that slammed into Ms. Kincaid's car."

"Yes."

"I have no further questions for this witness," Ben said, and turned to the grand jury. The same woman stood, and Ben acknowledged her.

"Why did you get so drunk?" she asked, "if you had a pregnant wife at home?"

Ben spoke. "As your legal advisor, I tell you that question has no relevance to these proceedings."

The woman frowned. Jack cleared his throat and Ben looked at him. "Let me answer that," he said, and he stared at the woman. "Ms. Kincaid was not yet my wife. And I'd seen a man die and I was responsible for that, I prosecuted him. I sought the death penalty. It affected me more than I realized it would, and it devastated Claire. We argued until we were sick of it, and it seemed better that we part for a few hours, let things cool off. I am anything but proud of my actions that day, they cost me the woman I loved and our child."

"You're excused, Mr. McCoy," Ben said, gently, glad the rules for grand jury testimony were different from the ones for trial. Jack got up and made his way out of the room. Ben glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was nearly lunch time. "Recess, Your Honor?"

The judge nodded. "We'll reconvene at one o'clock."

Ben and Jamie gathered up their materials and left the grand jury room. Ben wasn't surprised to see Jack waiting in hall. He fell into step with them. "What do you have for the afternoon, Ben?" he asked.

"Witnesses to corroborate your statements and Lennie's. I expect an indictment by close of business."

"I'll head back to work." He looked at them. "Thank you."

Jamie put her hand on his elbow. "We'll see you later." Jack nodded, and peeled away from them outside. Jamie and Ben went to a restaurant to eat and talk strategy.

"He actually did better than I'd thought he would," Jamie said. "He was a wreck last night. He actually invited me to his apartment to talk."

Ben nodded. "I'm glad."

Jamie looked perceptively at Ben Stone. "You put him up to it."

"I suggested it." He put his fork down and steepled his fingers over his food. "Look, he and I can talk, but it can only go so far. After all, we both loved the same woman, and that creates some awkwardness. I think he knows I go home and imagine the two of them doing what I so wanted to do." He sighed, then picked up his fork. "So I thought talking to you might be a better option. Now. This afternoon we have the witnesses from Bedford, from the park, they shouldn't take long, and I think we'll have a bill by close of business. Do you concur?"

She nodded. "I think you've firmly planted the idea in their minds that a child died, too, that Jack was deprived not only of the woman he loved but of their baby. I was watching the women, I could read the sympathy as he testified. His pain was palpable. With the other witnesses, and the tape you made at Bedford, I can't imagine a no bill."

He nodded. "Once we get it, and let Jack know, I think you should take him to dinner. He looks like he hasn't eaten in ages."

"I know." She finished her tea. "I worry about him. He doesn't seem interested in anything. You seem to be doing so much better."

He smiled. "I loved from afar, there's a huge difference. It's easier for me."

"So why didn't you let her know how you felt?"

He blushed. "I just couldn't, especially after the Thayer thing broke. It would have felt like taking advantage, and I knew she wasn't attracted to me. She respected me, but that was about as far as it went. So I hid my feelings. Then she met our cowboy."

Jamie was startled at that appellation. "Excuse me?"

Ben smiled. "He's always had the reputation as a cowboy, shooting from the hip, pushing the envelope if you will, pardon the mixed metaphors. Anyway, he had what I lacked. I'm not surprised they ended up together."

Jamie tried to imagine being that attracted to Jack, sleeping with him, and she failed. She liked and respected him, cared about him, but as far as a sexual relationship went, it was the farthest thing from her mind. Good thing, too, she thought, since he was anything but ready for another relationship, especially with yet another assistant. She looked at her watch. "We'd better get back."

--xx—

Jack wasn't in the office when they returned with their bill of indictment against Diana Hawthorne and John Baumgarten. Adam waited for them, called them into his office. Ben closed the door and they sat in front of Adam's desk.

"Jack is being Jack," he said, "he simply couldn't deal with waiting. I'm hoping this news will kick him into gear. Good work, Ben, now convict that woman and her accomplice."

"I'll do my best, sir," he said.

Jamie smoothed the crease in her pants. "I guess I'll try calling him."

Adam nodded. "Drag him out of that apartment if you can. He needs to rejoin the human race."

"I'll do what I can," she said, rising. She left Adam's office and walked to her cubicle. She dialed Jack's number and waited.

Jack was caught in a memory of making love to Claire on a rainy Sunday morning when the phone rang. He thought of not answering, but then realized it was probably Jamie. He picked up on the fifth ring. "McCoy."

"Jack, Jamie. We got a bill against both of them. They're probably being served at this moment."

"Good," he said. "Time for Diana to feel the pain, the fear of the needle, of joining Claire wherever it is the dead go." He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Why don't you join me for dinner?"

He smiled. "You don't have to worry about me, Jamie, or protect me from myself."

"Why do I feel I do?"

"You'll have to answer that one."

"So what were you thinking about when I called?"

She had him there. "Claire."

"I'm coming over and taking you to dinner," she said, and he realized she would whether he consented or not. Why not, he thought, maybe a night out would be good for him.

"OK, fine. Give me time to shower."

"Half an hour, Jack, and I'll be pounding on your door."

"OK," he said, and he laughed, something he hadn't done in a long time. "I'll try to be ready on time."

--xx—

Diana Hawthorne was shocked when the warrant was served on her by Lennie Briscoe and Rey Curtis. Speechless, she read it, then looked at them and their triumphant smiles.

"You'll be arraigned in the morning," Lennie said, "and speaking as someone who could have been one of your victims, I look forward to seeing you face a capital murder charge. Good luck." He tagged Rey's elbow and they left her, still speechless, in the visitors' room.

She sat there another minute, then she screamed "Fuck you Jack McCoy, and fuck you, Claire Kincaid! And triple fuck you, Benjamin Stone." They came to take her away, two women of dubious sexual persuasion, and she was put on suicide watch. She found that amusing, as if she, Diana Hawthorne, would off herself over the likes of Jack McCoy and his thirst for vengeance.

Sally Bell refused to represent her, as did Ruthie Miller. Danielle Melnick hung up on her. Shelly Kates heard her out, and reluctantly agreed to at least be there for the arraignment, but warned they would have to talk and Shelly made no promises. "I knew Claire," she said, "and I liked her. You may well have to go to Legal Aid to find someone who didn't know and care about Claire Kincaid, but I'll give you arraignment, at least."

-xx—

Shelly called Sally, Ruthie, and Danielle, and they agreed to meet at a bar all knew and liked. Shelly arrived within minutes of the others, and they took a booth in the back. Once they had drinks, Shelly cleared her throat.

"So," she began, "how does one deal with a problem like Diana Hawthorne? She whacked one of us."

Ruthie frowned. "We ignore her skinny ass and we go watch them insert the needle, with loud applause."

"I said I'd represent her at arraignment."

"You didn't." Ruthie glared at her.

"Don't show up," Sally suggested.

"Yeah, and get censured if not disbarred. What did you guys say when she called?"

"Fuck no," Ruthie said.

"Go fuck yourself," Sally said.

"I hung up on her," Danielle said. "I liked Claire, and I adore Jack."

"Don't we all," Sally said, the irony not lost on the women, two of whom were his former lovers. "Look, Shelly, you have built-in conflict of interest. You can't represent Diana. All you have to do is tell the arraigning judge, and she'll cut you loose."

"I know." She looked at her friends. "But doesn't she deserve a defense?"

"Hell no," Danielle said, and then she slugged back her drink. "Let her take her chances with Legal Aid. What chance did she give Claire?"

Ruthie rolled her glass on its base. "I'm the first to say that everyone deserves an adequate defense, but I truly liked Claire, I was her friend, and I miss her."

"I didn't particularly like her," Sally said, "but I didn't dislike her, either. I think I resented how happy she made Jack."

Ruthie laughed. "Did any of us ever expect to see Jack McCoy transformed from a son of a bitch into a human being? And we know who did that."

Shelly's expression was one of abject misery. "Why is this bothering me? I've always said a client deserves my best, no matter what they've done, but this sticks in my craw. Claire really was one of us, and Diana arranged for her to die. I guess I was looking for excuses to ditch her, support for that, given our stances on our clients."

"Well, you've got our support," Danielle said. "Dump the bitch and tell the judge every goddamn detail. We're the best in the city, without one of us, Diana doesn't stand a chance."

"She doesn't stand a chance even if she had one of us," Ruthie said. "My God, killing an ADA. It doesn't even matter what judge catches the case, it's a done deal."

"And I think Diana knows that. You should have heard her on the phone, talk about desperation." Shelly drained her drink.

"Did she even try to deny it?" Sally asked. "I didn't let her get that far."

"No, I said we'd talk in the morning. I'll tell her before arraignment that I'm out as her attorney."

They ordered another round, and as one, raised their glasses. "To Claire," Ruthie said, "and to Jack, may his misery end soon. I miss battling the son of a bitch."

They drank, then Sally said, "You're right about that, Ruthie, I miss battling him. Right now he's so lost in his misery that it's no fun tormenting him with motions and counter arguments."

They spent the rest of the evening trading war stories and laughing. They promised to show up at Diana's arraignment to support Shelly, and the informal committee to see Diana Hawthorne go down disbanded for the night.

--xx—

Shelly met Diana Hawthorne just before her arraignment. "I'll handle this, like I agreed, but then you'll have to find other counsel."

"You can't do that," Diana whined. "You agreed to represent me."

"I did not." A guard knocked at the door. "C'mon, let's get this over with."

Diana waited in the prisoner's bullpen while Shelly sat with her friends in the gallery. Then the bailiff called out "Case 1-884-96, the People v. Diana Hawthorne, charge is first degree capital murder of a law enforcement agent." Shelly got up and met Diana at the defense podium. The judge looked at her expectantly.

"Your Honor, I'm here merely for the arraignment. I cannot represent this defendant."

"And why not, counselor?" she snapped.

"I knew Claire Kincaid, liked her, and I once had an intimate relationship with Jack McCoy. It's inappropriate."

The judge looked over her half-glasses at Diana. "You're the one? You're charged with killing Miss Kincaid? Enter a plea, counselor, and you're dismissed as her defense attorney."

"You miserable bitch," Diana muttered, then said, in a clear voice, "Not guilty, Your Honor."

"The People on bail?"

Jamie looked at Diana, then the judge. "Ms. Hawthorne is currently at Bedford finishing a sentence for a prior conviction at the hands of Ms. Kincaid. The people request remand, and not at Bedford, either."

"Request granted," the judge said, "Remand to Riker's Singer Center." She slammed her gavel and Shelly stepped away as bailiffs took Diana away.

Sally, Danielle, and Ruthie stood as Shelly slipped through the bar gate, Jamie right behind her. No one spoke until they were in the hall. "Thank God," Jamie said. "I was afraid you'd actually defend that woman."

"Not a chance in hell," Shelly said. "Nor would these fine attorneys."

"Wonder who she'll get," Jamie said.

"She'll be lucky to get Legal Aid," Ruthie said. "You aren't going to find many attorneys in this city who didn't know Claire." She looked at Jamie. "How's Jack holding up?"

"Better than expected. I dragged him out to dinner last night, he actually ate and made conversation."

"Let him know we're with him, OK?" Ruthie asked.

"Will do," Jamie said. "Thanks, ladies. I'll let Ben Stone know, too, he wondered who'd defend her."

"That's Ben, tailoring his trial strategy to the opposing counsel," Danielle said. "I don't know about the rest of you but I'm not going to miss a minute of this trial if I can help it."

"What about the slime who actually killed her?" Sally asked.

"His Legal Aid attorney has already met with Ben to deal."

"And?"

"And Ben refuses, it's capital murder all around, even if the only charge he can bring is conspiracy." Jamie smiled at them. "I have to get back. Thanks for being here, I'll be sure Jack knows."

She left her former colleagues and made her way back to Hogan Place. Jack's office door was open, and she stepped in, relaying the news.

"That was kind of them," he said. "But they're good women, I wouldn't expect less of them."

"Ben's waiting for me," Jamie said, "so I'll catch you later?"

He smiled. "I'll be here."

I hope so, Jamie thought, walking down the hall to Ben's office.

Jack stared at the picture of Claire on his desk. We'll get her, he promised. He felt her beside him, and it was comforting. He sat that way for awhile, feeling her, feeling loved, and then it faded and he turned his attention back to his latest case.


	10. Chapter 10

Diana was frantic. No one would represent her, and her first hearing approached. There was nothing for it, she decided, but to go pro se. She'd once been a hell of a lawyer, and who knew her case better than she did? She'd already mapped out a theory of the case, her defense being her former cell mate, Joan Woodward, whose married name was Viola, was married to Anthony Viola, and he was a major player in the New Jersey mob. Granted, the feds were all over the Viola family – Joan did twelve months for concealing assets and evidence – and her whole demeanor scared Diana. When she suggested whacking Claire Kincaid, Diana felt she had no choice but to go along. Once again, here she was, in deep shit, because she wanted to please someone else. More specifically, she wanted to survive, and no one in Bedford messed with Queen Joan, who made no secrets of her Viola connections.

She wore one of her old suits to her hearing. She looked across the aisle, at Ben Stone, and Jamie Ross sitting second chair. Glancing back at the gallery, she saw Jack McCoy, and she couldn't help feeling shocked – he'd aged ten years in the months since she'd seen him. The shock quickly became satisfaction as he glared at her, and she couldn't resist smiling at him in the old, flirtatious way. The judge came in, and Diana groaned, it was Lisa Pongracic. Great. The judge looked at her and said "Where is your attorney, Ms. Hawthorne?"

"No one will represent me, Your Honor. Apparently every lawyer in this city knew Claire Kincaid, and they refuse. So I have little choice but to go pro se."

Ben stood. "Your Honor, we believe Ms. Hawthorne does not have the mental capacity now to represent herself, that she's angling for appeal on grounds of inadequate counsel."

"As Your Honor knows, I was a very good attorney. I'm more than capable of defending myself against these scurrilous charges."

"Mr. Stone, do you have any solid basis to support your contention that Ms. Hawthorne isn't capable of defending herself?"

"No, Your Honor," he admitted. "Just a conversation with her at Bedford, which I taped."

"Without my knowledge!"

The judge looked at Lisa. Then she turned her attention to Ben. "You taped her without her permission, Counselor?"

"I did so as a private citizen, Your Honor, not as an agent of the court."

"That's not going to wash with me, Mr. Stone. You're well aware of the laws of this State, and I strongly suspect you knew you'd be prosecuting this case." She looked at Diana again. "Very well, you may proceed pro se, but I'm appointing shadow counsel from Legal Aid. I see that you've put forth a duress defense."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Mr. Stone?"

"Your Honor, that is pure baloney. Her motive was revenge, plain and simple."

Lisa Pongracic sighed. "I'll read motions and deliver a decision forthwith. I presume you have the moving papers ready, Ms. Hawthorne?"

"I do, Your Honor." She produced two bluebacks, one for the judge and one for Ben.

"Then I'll meet with counsel again in three days. Court is adjourned."

Diana was led away, glancing back at Jack with a small, triumphant smile. Suffer, you bastard, the way I've suffered, then tell me, how does it feel to lose everything that matters to you?

Ben and Jamie walked through the gate and met Jack in aisle. Danielle Melnick and Sally Bell slipped out of a gallery bench and joined them. Ben sighed, he was going to have 'help' whether he wanted it or not. He opened the blueback and scanned it before passing it to Jack. Jack's face flushed and he almost threw it back. "Easy, Jack," Ben said. "We know it's a load of crap."

"May I read it, Ben?" Danielle asked.

Sighing, he passed it to the tiny attorney with the razor sharp brain. She and Sally read it together, then Danielle looked up and passed it back. "I think I'll go to Jersey and visit some old colleagues," she said. "Check out the Violas. I'll get back to you."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, as graciously as possible. He'd be a fool to turn down legal brain power like Danielle's, and he knew she was close to Jack, she was out for blood. And, like any good shark, Sally scented it, too, and wanted in on the kill. "I must get back to the office. If you'll excuse me." He and Jamie pushed past Jack and the women.

"C'mon, Jack, let's get coffee," Danielle said. He obediently followed, feeling cut off at the knees by Diana's strategy. It was a repeat of her defense against the charges he brought against her nearly a year ago, with minor variations in theme and execution. Danielle and Sally took him into a bar not far from the courthouse, where Danielle ordered coffee for three, circumventing Jack's urge for something stronger. Sally pushed him into a booth before he could countermand Danielle's order.

"Jack," she said, while Danielle chatted with the bartender, "this is me. You don't have to wear your mask with me. How are you doing?"

"I like to think I'm getting better every day, an inch at a time."

"I'm so sorry about the whole thing."

His brown eyes were soft, and he reached for Sally's hand, touching it for a second. "Thank you."

Danielle slid into the booth across from Jack and Sally. "You are not going to drink around me, buddy," she warned. "Claire would hate it, and I'm not too fond of it myself. Hard as it is, you have to get through this without a crutch, you have to feel every splinter of pain, and then it will start to get better. You know I liked Claire, I feel your loss. I'm going to help nail that bitch." She took out her cell phone and dialed a number as the waitress brought three coffees in thick white mugs. Danielle nodded her thanks, then said "Ruthie, Sally and I are having coffee with Jack at O'Malley's, then Sally and I are taking a trip to Jersey. You up for it?" She reached for her mug, listening. "Oh yeah, it's to take down Hawthorne. She's filed a motion you won't believe. I'll fill you in on the way. Good. Be here in twenty minutes." She clicked off and stashed the phone in her purse. "All your women, Jack," she teased, "have bonded around this one cause, to bring Diana down, to get justice for Claire."

His bewildered look made Sally smile. "C'mon, Jack, is that so hard to believe?"

He drank before trusting his voice. "Truthfully, yes."

"Ruthie loved Claire, you know that." Danielle's voice cut through his daze. "This is very personal for her, and for me, I'll never forget the kindnesses Claire showed me when I very much needed kindness. Sally has her own reasons."

He looked at Sally, probing. Their affair had been good and ended on semi-good terms, but he couldn't see her helping to chase Claire's killer to ground for nothing.

"It could have been me, if things worked out differently," Sally said, "but more than that, Claire was one of us. Just think of us as your harem, seeking vengeance for one of our own."

"But," he sputtered, looking at the tiny woman across from him, "Danielle and I never…"

Danielle smiled. "It's not a necessary qualification. All that counts is affection for you and a desire to help."

"You have your own practices," he said.

"And we have very capable assistants," Sally said.

He shrugged. "What can I say? Thank you for Claire."

"Thank us when the needle goes in Diana's arm. Now, about this ridiculous defense," Sally said.

"Let's wait for Ruthie," Danielle said.

Ruthie rushed in just then, her coat open and her face red. "Coffee," she called out, as she slid out of her coat. "Move your ass, Melnick." She pushed into the booth next to Danielle. "Now, what is this bullshit Diana's up to?"

"She's claiming duress, that her cell mate, the wife of Tony Viola, 'suggested' this revenge killing, told her how to do it, expected her to do it not only for her own honor but for the honor of the Violas, now that they'd taken her under their wing. And Diana, poor scared rabbit that she is, followed Joan's directions to the letter, lest she meet with some accident in the shower, or find some bull dyke having her way with her."

"You have to be shitting me," Ruthie Miller said, as her coffee arrived. "I smell a 730 exam in Diana's immediate future."

"Be that as it may, we're heading over to Jersey. A dear friend of mine works in the federal attorney's office, and we're going to take a very good look at the Viola files." Danielle was nearly through with her coffee, and she caught the waitress's eye. "Jack is probably going back to work," she said, heavily inflecting the word work, "and not hanging out with his best friend, also named Jack. Right, Jack?"

He smiled, a sad but still amused smile. "I'm going to work. I'm finding it's easier when I bury myself in work and stay away from the apartment."

Ruthie reached for his hand and refused to let go. "I miss her, too, Jack. I was really looking forward to being a godmother, not to mention crossing swords with her in court for years to come. You're not alone in your grief and pain, pal. I've cried buckets over that girl."

"I know, Ruthie. She felt the same way about you."

The waitress refilled their mugs and dumped a handful of creamers on the table. Ruthie reached for one and poured it into her coffee, releasing Jack's hand to do so. He put both hands under the table, clenching his fists. He appreciated their concern, their willingness to work pro bono on this, but there were areas of his soul that were off limits, even to Ruthie Miller or Danielle Melnick.

"We're going to give Ben reams of material," Danielle promised. "We're going to poke so deeply into Diana and Baumgarten, they'll think we're proctologists. We have our own resources, and don't mind using them."

Jack brought his right hand up to grab his mug. "I do appreciate it, and I'm sure Ben does, too. I know Claire would."

Ruthie's smile was fond. "I remember running into her at the courthouse restaurant, during the Carmel case. She believed women could have it all. I, of course, pointed out the fallacies in that, and left her with the brilliant witticism 'tick tock, girl.' Kind of ironic that she got knocked up a couple of months later." She looked at Jack then and blushed. "Sorry. It's just that she was so easy to tease sometimes."

Jack cleared her throat. "Believe it or not, she remembered that. When she told me she was pregnant, one of the first things she said was 'Ruthie and her tick tocks. I'm blaming this on her.'"

"I trust you pointed out I had nothing to do with it. Improper equipment and all that."

Jack laughed, a real laugh, but a tear formed in his left eye, which he wiped as quickly as possible. "She was so shocked when that stick turned blue, she made me look at it to make sure she wasn't hallucinating." His smile was sweet. "She walked around all day in a daze. I kept telling her it wasn't the end of the world. 'I know,' she said, 'it's just that Ruthie is never going to let me live this down if I'm not Wonder Woman.' By the next day, she was happy, she woke up happy and stayed that way, even when she was communing with the toilet every morning."

Sally realized he was probably speaking more freely to them than he had to anyone, sharing memories and feelings, and she wondered if it was because they all cared about Claire, were bonded to her in some way, individual as they might be. She looked at Ruthie, telegraphing the message with her eyes, and saw recognition in Ruthie's. Ruthie was the closest to Claire of all of them, but respect for the dead woman was the one common denominator of their little group, that and a fondness for the broken man sitting with them.

"I wouldn't, either," Ruthie said. "Payback's a bitch, she gave me enough grief about Andrew." She smiled. "She would have been a wonderful mother. In the end, I think Adam would have lost yet another female assistant, but hey, who can argue with a mom wanting to take care of her baby?"

Jack blushed again. "He was ready for that one, from the moment we told him." Then he looked down, into the dregs of his coffee, and an anguished "Oh God" escaped, a strangled whisper that tore the hearts of the women sitting with him. He regained control in seconds, then looked at each of them. "I am very grateful to each and every one of you, whatever your personal reasons for taking time from your practices to chase down an evil woman."

Ruthie nodded, then Danielle said "Does this mean you'll start cutting better deals with us?"

That made him grin. "When hell freezes over."

"Which it will when Diana arrives," Ruthie said. "She'll freeze the balls right off Satan, he won't know what hit him when she arrives."

"Which isn't going to happen if we don't get going," Danielle said. "You going to be all right, Jack?"

He nodded. "I'm going back to work." He reached for his wallet, but Danielle cut him off with a look. The women got up, each leaving money on the table, and Jack walked out with them. They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, then Jack nodded and headed for Hogan Place.

"I hope he makes it," Sally said. "He's not very good at dealing with his emotions."

"He'll make it," Danielle said, "and then we're going to have one hell of a time with him in court. I for one look forward to it." She buttoned her coat. "Are we ready?" She pointed to a car and driver waiting at the curb. "Off we go to armpit of the northeast."

--xx—

Jack did go back to work. He went to Ben's office first. Ben was making notes, referring back to the blueback and then to open texts on his desk. He looked up when Jack walked in. "We're on it. I'm already demanding a 730 exam."

Jack nodded. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."

Ben smiled. "Will do. Now, go do your own work before Adam kicks your fanny."

Jack smiled and turned, walking back to his office. Young Cutter was bent over a blueback of his own, and he looked up when Jack walked in. When Jack ignored him, he stood, eager to present the outlines of the motion and his ideas for counterarguments. Jack heard him out as his hand reached for that bottom drawer, then he stopped. No more drinking at work, he told himself. Focus on the work. And he speculated about the women descending on the U.S. Attorney's office and smiled at the thought of the poor man, swarmed by those women, then he turned his attention to the young man at his heels, a puppy in search of a pat on the head.

--xx—

The U.S. Attorney was Steve Walsh, an old school friend of Danielle's, and he was genuinely glad to see her. He ushered the women into his office, ordered coffee, and then sat behind his desk. "What can I do for you, Danielle?"

"Consider us on a mission from God, Steve. We want everything you have on the Violas, particularly that stellar example of womanhood, Joan Woodward Viola."

He didn't hide his surprise. "Danielle, you know those files are confidential."

She frowned. "We're working on the murder of a New York City ADA. We believe Joan is tangentially involved. I'm primarily interested in what landed her in a New York prison, Bedford."

His eyebrows shot up at the mention of the murder. "Joan whacked an ADA? The Violas are old school, they don't touch cops, district attorneys, or family members."

"I didn't say she whacked her. I said we think she had some tangential involvement. Her cell mate is charged with the crime."

The door opened, and Steve's secretary came in with coffee. Once she was gone and the door again closed, Steve got up and went to a file cabinet. He thumbed through the files, then yanked one. He perused it before handing it to Danielle. Sally and Ruthie stood behind her, bent slightly over her shoulders, reading with her. Joan Woodward Viola had concealed evidence and laundered mountains of cash, and served eight months for it. She was now behaving herself as far as the feds could tell. Disappointed, Danielle closed the file and passed it back to Steve.

"So what can you tell us about the Violas? If Joan 'encouraged' this other woman to kill the ADA, would they help?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't think so, but times are changing. The younger men, coming up in the organization, don't respect the old rules and customs. They'll do anything for a buck. Did this woman do the actual killing herself?"

"No, she was still in jail," Danielle said. "She arranged for a man named Baumgarten to do it. Made it look like an accident."

"I've never heard that name," he said, "sorry. The looking like an accident, that sounds like a Viola specialty, but I seriously doubt it had the sanction of Tony Viola. I don't think I can be much help."

"Well," Danielle said, and flashed her brightest smile, "we appreciate the help, the look at the file. If you hear anything about it, please call me."

The women left the building silently, but once outside, Danielle turned to her friends. "Are we up for a trip to Bedford?"

Sally checked her watch. "Sure, we can make it up there in time if your driver goes like a bat out of hell."

Ruthie nodded. "Live in nanny. Let's go."

It was a two and a half hour drive. They went through the entry procedures and then found themselves in the warden's office. He knew all of them, individually they'd made many trips to Bedford to see clients, but he was surprised to see them together.

"How may I help you ladies?" he asked.

Ruthie took the lead on this one. "We'd like to see Diana Hawthorne's files, as well as Joan Woodward's."

Tim Taylor leaned back, surprised. "Are you defending Ms. Hawthorne?"

Ruthie shrugged. "We're involved, that's enough. Call Ben Stone if it will make you feel better. The files?"

He shrugged. Whatever would help put that skinny broad on death row, he thought. "ADA Ross was here yesterday, photocopying the same material."

"We're a special branch," Ruthie said.

He got up and got the files for them. "The room next door has a table and a copy machine," he said.

They filed into the small room next to his office and opened the files. Diana's was a gold mine of information – visitation logs, copies of her correspondence, which included a photocopy of the article about Claire's accident, even a listing of her conjugal visits with Baumgarten. "How the hell did she manage that?" Ruthie asked.

Danielle's eyebrows arched. "Should we be looking for a secret marriage?"

Sally snorted. "I think not. She's a master manipulator, we all know that."

They read the weekly summary of Diana's conduct, which was exemplary most of the time. She got on well with her cell mate, but clashed on occasion with the CO's, and nearly came to blows with another prisoner once. That was classified as justified, as the other woman made advances to Diana in shower. Joan Woodward had come to her defense and it quickly ended without CO intervention. Hawthorne and Woodward kept a neat cell, no contraband was ever found, and both were scheduled for either early release in Woodward's case, or on time for Diana. They looked at the top material, the arrest warrant, which they'd put aside to read the past – Diana had been taken, screaming, from the visitor's lounge and put on suicide watch.

"So she's on the edge," Sally mused. "Shelly had a point."

"She was never one of us," Danielle said, sharply. "The ice queen, remember?"

Sally nodded. "I'm not feeling sorry for her, just thinking aloud. Wonder if she can get over on Liz Olivet."

"I doubt it," Ruthie said. "Liz is a sharp cookie."

"Jack was no slouch," Sally said, "and look what happened there."

"So he screwed her," Ruthie snorted. "Not exactly headline news."

Sally flushed, and Ruthie touched her arm. "It's OK, Ruthie. I know what you meant."

Danielle had moved to Joan's file. "Nothing useful here. Visits from her family, boring mail from her kids, a job in the kitchen. Let's copy Diana's file and get back to the city."

--xx—

Jamie was tired. It was six, and Ben usually ended his day at six, to confer with Jack, freeing her to go home to Katie. She could get used to this, but today he showed no signs of slowing down, let alone quitting. He studied each line of Diana's Bedford file as if it was Holy Writ, making notes, writing questions, asking questions. Jamie felt as if her brain had been sucked dry. Finally, at seven, Ben closed shop, storing the files in a locked drawer.

"Go home, Jamie," he said. "We're tired, and tired people make mistakes. There aren't going to be any mistakes in this case."

"Are you stopping in to brief Jack?"

He nodded. "It helps."

"Good. He seems better to me."

Ben smiled. "We can only hope, Jamie." He pulled on his suit coat. "I'll see you in the morning."

She left, and noticed Jack bent over his desk as she passed his office. His left hand propped up his head, and he didn't notice as she passed. Maybe that's a good sign, she thought, he's concentrating. She tried to put the office behind her as she stepped into the elevators, but then an old memory came, unbidden. She was getting out of the elevator in the courthouse, and passed Jack and who she now knew was Claire waited to get on. Jack's eyes were locked on Claire's as he said "You made it sound like a major felony." Claire grinned, and Jamie wondered what they were talking about.

She hated it when these flashes came, she wanted to be as objective as possible about Claire Kincaid, know as little as needed. Emotional involvement could submarine this case, and she didn't want to lose, not this time. This was the first time Jamie had ever thought the death penalty justified, and it surprised her, but she went with it. If anyone deserved it, she thought, it was Diana Hawthorne, and she had a feeling that it might bring Jack some peace, but she doubted it. Nothing short of the second coming of Claire Kincaid would bring him peace, restore him, make him whole.

She got off the elevator and pushed all thoughts of work away, focusing on Katie, the one constant in her life. She stepped into the brisk night air and signaled for a taxi, thinking of the little girl who would be getting ready for bed when she got home, and she urged the driver to step on it.

--xx—

Jack looked up when Ben walked into his office. He automatically reached for the drawer, and poured two glasses. They sat on the couch, and Jack waited.

"We have records of multiple visits to Bedford by John Baumgarten in the months leading up to Claire's death. We have the testimony of visitors and prisoners alike who overheard them discussing tracking her movements and waiting for the perfect moment. On the last visit, we have a witness who heard Diana tell Baumgarten that the night of the execution was a high possibility, to track Claire closely, and if the opportunity presented itself, go for it."

"Is that witness credible?"

Ben shrugged. "It's a prisoner, who was waiting for her family to arrive. White collar crime, no axe to grind, so yes, I'd say she'd credible. She's been out a month, and she's willing to testify, I didn't have to cut a deal for it."

"That helps," Jack said.

"We have to wait for Olivet's report. She meets with Diana tomorrow, so that should come later tomorrow, or the next morning at the latest."

"Let's hope Liz's bullshit detector is in high gear," Jack said, and he refilled his glass, ignoring Ben's mild disapproving glance.

"How are you getting along?" Ben's eyes tracked the refilled glass from Jack's hand to his lips.

Jack sipped, then said, "Better."

"Better at hiding it, or really better?"

Jack shrugged. "My struggle, Ben. I'm working through it."

Ben nodded, he wouldn't pry. Jack would talk if he wished, otherwise Ben would leave it alone. He knew how annoying the probes of well meaning friends could be. "I'm heading home, busy day tomorrow."

"I won't be far behind you. I sent that puppy home an hour ago. I am nobody's role model, but somebody forgot to tell him."

Ben grinned. "Didn't we all find someone to emulate when we were rookie ADA's?"

"I suppose."

Ben rose, and put his empty glass on Jack's desk. "I'll see you in the morning. Get a good night's sleep, my friend."

Jack stood, too, and walked the short distance to the door with Ben. "Thanks. Good night, Ben." He closed the door after the man and returned to his desk. He knew he should go home, but he still hadn't adjusted to the emptiness, the loneliness. Still, it was better than here.

He finished his drink and changed, then rode home as recklessly as always, daring fate or God or whatever it was that determined who lived or died. He remembered a scene from one of his favorite movies, "Cool Hand Luke," where Luke, in the middle of a Florida thunderstorm, stood in the middle of the road, holding a shovel to the skies and daring 'the old man' to do his thing. Cool Hand Jack, he thought, parking his bike. Claire would have loved that image, laughed herself silly at me comparing myself to Paul Newman.

He unlocked the door and stepped into the darkness. He stood for a moment, letting it hit him with its usual viciousness, the darkness and emptiness. No soft lighting, no sweet voice arguing over whose turn it was to make dinner, no body straining under his on the couch. He flipped the master switch then. Remembering that Claire often preferred sweaty sex to a drink as a way to unwind was not what he needed to be remembering right now. He put his helmet and keys down, then walked into his kitchen. He poured a hefty drink, then went to his stereo, hitting play. Whatever he'd listened to the night before would do tonight.

He sat on the couch, and thought of Diana, preferring rage to pain and depression. Ben had a good strategy outlined, and he would methodically go through it all, laying the groundwork, then the events leading up to the act itself, and Diana would find herself on death row. Jack had no doubts, refused to entertain even the slightest one. Claire would be avenged, and he would be there to see it. The irony was not lost on him – he would be there as Diana died, whereas he'd left Claire to die alone. She died the moment Baumgarten smashed into her, despite her young body struggling against the inevitable.

He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. "I miss you," he said. "Will it ever stop?" He put his feet on the coffee table, listening to the Doors.

_Yes._ He was no longer surprised when she answered him, and he didn't care if it was an auditory hallucination or not, it felt real and that was all he cared about.

"Why can't I see you?"

_Because your ass would end up in Bellevue if you did. You have to let go, Jack._

"I don't know how to do that."

_Buy a new couch for starters. _He heard her laugh, God she had a great laugh.

"Ruthie really misses you," he said, "they dragged me out for coffee today."

_I know, I was there._

"How's that?"

_Jack, I'm in your heart, and as long as I'm in your heart, I won't leave you. Sooner or later, I'll begin to fade as you get on with your life. It's how it works._

"So this isn't real, our conversations?"

_They're as real as you want them to be, and as long as they don't spill into your work life, there's nothing wrong with it. I love you, Jesuit boy, and the guilt you feel is so not necessary. Let it go._

He sighed. "I'm not sure I want to."

_You have to. Either that, or go nuts, and hey, I don't want to hang with you in a locked ward. So get your ass in gear, you should be chasing down the bad guys and sending them away, not sitting there thinking about me. I'm gone, I won't be coming back. You must accept that. Go buy a new couch, and clean this dump up, start over._

"You want me to start dating, too?" He smiled.

_Sure, eventually. What I really want is for you to change your driving habits. It's no different from suicide by cop and it won't get you anywhere near me. Now, finish that and go to bed. I promise good dreams._

And that was it, she was gone as Jim Morrison sang of "Riders on the Storm." He shook his head, then looked at his glass. She was right, he had to buy a new couch, and he had to get back in the game. He finished his drink, put the glass beside the bottle, and got up, cutting off the music and then the lights, and made his way through the shadows to his bedroom. He undressed and fell into bed, curling on his side, clutching the pillow that still faintly smelled of her, and succumbed to the alcohol, hoping for those good dreams she'd promised.


	11. Chapter 11

Ben went over his opening statement a last time before heading for court. Jamie had given him feedback, and he was as satisfied as he could be with his efforts. He looked up at a knock, and saw Jack standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets.

"Am I interrupting?"

"No, not really," Ben said. "I'm just giving it a once over before I head to court."

"May I?"

Ben nodded. Jack was barred from the courtroom until after his testimony, but there was no harm in letting him read Ben's opening. He knew it all, anyway, hell, he'd lived it. Jack took the statement and backed onto Ben's couch. He read carefully but not slowly, Ben watched his face for reactions. Finished, he looked up with damp eyes.

"That's great, Ben."

"Thank you. I just hope it comes across that we feel two people died without crossing the line with Judge Pongracic."

Jack nodded. "My stomach's in knots just anticipating facing Diana on cross. I'm afraid I'll lose it and go for her throat." He got up and gave the statement back to Ben. "Go kick ass." He left, his eyes still damp, but he was erect and controlled.

Ben watched the empty doorway for a few seconds, remembering the things Danielle and the ladies told him, they were certainly effective at excavating dirt. And then he felt for Jack, who heard it all, lived it all over again in his mind. Please let me bring him some peace, he thought, not knowing if he was talking to Claire or to some abstract God. He never thought the day would come when he'd have a bond with Jack McCoy, let alone that the bond would be Claire Kincaid. It had eaten at him, learning they were involved, he wandered the Paris streets he'd wanted to show her, thinking of the two of them, the jealousy almost more than he could stand.

"Ben?" Jamie stood in the doorway. "It's time."

He nodded and got his jacket and briefcase. He slipped into his suit coat before going out the door, then held the briefcase and walked with Jamie down the corridor to the elevator.

The courthouse steps were busy, and they picked their way through the people and press. This case caught a lot of attention from the press, they were playing it as a love triangle gone wrong, and the fact that Claire was an ADA merely spiced the story. Ruthie and Danielle waited at the top of the steps, then Sally came up from the left. Ben knew Shelly was around somewhere.

"We'll be right behind you, Ben," Ruthie said.

He nodded, focusing his thoughts on his opening statement and the damage he must inflict with one shot. He and Jamie walked into the courtroom before it opened to the public and took their seats at the prosecutor's table. Ben glanced over at Diana and her shadow counsel. Diana was reading her own statement, on a legal pad, and he knew she would make notes to counter his opening arguments. Then the doors opened for the gallery, but Ben didn't turn around. He focused on Claire, on her smile when he made some gentle witticism, her frown when he corrected her. He kept her face firmly in mind as the words of his opening ran through his mind.

They were called to stand, and Lisa Pongracic came in. She took her seat on the bench, ordered seats, and then addressed the attorneys. "I know there are some sensitive issues involved, but I will not have these proceedings turned into a circus. I will not hesitate to issue contempt citations. Do you understand?" Both attorneys nodded. "Mr. Stone, you may proceed with your opening statement as soon as the jury is seated." She nodded to the bailiff guarding the jury room, and he opened the door. The jury filed in and took their seats. Once they settled, Judge Pongracic said "Proceed, Mr. Stone."

Ben rose, buttoned his suit coat, and approached the jury, a gentle smile on his face. Then he cleared his throat. "This is a case that could, in simpler circumstances, be reduced to a love triangle gone horribly wrong. Yet this is anything but simple. The core of the case is a conspiracy by Diana Hawthorne and John Baumgarten to murder Assistant District Attorney Claire Kincaid and make it look like a drunk driving accident. And they almost succeeded. Why did they want Ms. Kincaid to die? That's simple enough, she was the prosecuting attorney in the trial that deprived Diana Hawthorne of her freedom and her license to practice law. Diana Hawthorne was the driving force in this conspiracy, Mr. Baumgarten merely did as she told him, for he owed her his freedom, and for that, he'd trade twelve months in jail as opposed to twelve years."

He drew a breath and turned to look at Diana, who looked back. "Let's backtrack a little, talk about that case Ms. Kincaid prosecuted so effectively. Six years ago, Ms. Hawthorne broke the law by concealing evidence and suborning perjury in the trial of a man accused of the serial killings of young black males. Yes, Ms. Hawthorne was, at that time, an ADA, the assistant of Jack McCoy, now the Executive Assistant District Attorney for major felonies. They'd had an affair, and it was beginning to go sour. In an effort to impress Mr. McCoy, to hold on to him, she tampered with that trial, and shortly afterward, he was appointed to his current position. She felt she was owed gratitude, among other things, but still, it ended, and ended badly. But, being adults, they moved on. A few years later, Ms. Kincaid became Mr. McCoy's assistant. She was beautiful and brilliant, with a wonderful future ahead of her. How do I know these things? She was my assistant before I resigned from the DA's office. She went to Mr. McCoy with my highest recommendation."

He turned back to the jury. "And Ms. Kincaid and Mr. McCoy fell in love. No doubt Ms. Hawthorne heard about it, she was in and out of court and no doubt heard the gossip, saw them together, and somewhere inside of her, it burned, but she was able to deal with it. Moving on and all that, right? And then the police uncovered evidence that led to the trial and conviction of Ms. Hawthorne for criminal facilitation, prosecuted by Ms. Kincaid, Mr. McCoy's current lover. Ms. Kincaid laid a brilliant trap for Ms. Hawthorne, but in the end, she cut a generous deal with her rather than see her convicted and sentenced to a harsher, longer term. Ms. Hawthorne went off to prison, and Ms. Kincaid went on with life, indeed, she created life with Mr. McCoy, becoming pregnant. Perhaps that was the proverbial straw that broke this camel's back, because suddenly John Baumgarten became a frequent visitor to Bedford. We will produce witnesses who overheard their conversations, heard Ms. Hawthorne instruct Mr. Baumgarten to stalk Ms. Kincaid, and, when opportunity presented itself, to arrange an accident, assuring him he'd do no more than a year, and she'd be there for him when he got out."

Ben paused and got a drink of water. "I'm sure many of you have heard of the Mickey Scott case, of the man who was executed for raping and beating a young woman to death. Mr. McCoy and Ms. Kincaid prosecuted him, and he was sentenced to death. The detectives who caught him and the prosecutors who sought justice were present for his execution. It affected each of them differently, and Ms. Kincaid, who was not feeling well as it was from her early pregnancy, went her own way to deal with her emotions at watching a man die. We know John Baumgarten caught up with her briefly in Central Park. We know that Mr. McCoy went to a bar, and eventually he called Ms. Kincaid to come get him. She took longer than expected, and Mr. McCoy took a cab home. When Ms. Kincaid arrived, she found one of the detectives, Mr. Briscoe, there instead. Finding him somewhat intoxicated, she offered him a ride home. We have witnesses who put Mr. Baumgarten in that bar, leaving just before Ms. Kincaid.

"It was a rainy night, ladies and gentlemen, so Ms. Kincaid drove carefully, after all, she had a child to consider. And then, out of the darkness, came the headlights of a speeding Dodge Ram truck, which crashed into the driver's door of Ms. Kincaid's small car. Her injuries were terrible, as the medical examiner will testify. Mr. Baumgarten walked away without a scratch. Detective Briscoe suffered minor injuries. Ms. Kincaid did not die at once, her young body fought for her life, for the life of her baby, but in the end, she couldn't win this one. And we all thought it was a tragic accident caused by a drunk behind the wheel.

"And then new evidence came to light. A casual conversation led to an investigation, and that investigation proved without doubt that Diana Hawthorne planned and executed a murder, destroying more than one life, devastating those who loved her, and they were many." He made a casual gesture to the packed gallery. "We will prove the conspiracy to murder an officer of the court, a law enforcement agent in the eyes of the law, which carries the severest of penalties. You know that we seek the death penalty in this case, as the law demands for such a crime. Don't let the idea of some twisted love triangle influence your thinking, for there was no triangle. Mr. McCoy and Ms. Kincaid were in love, committed to each other, to the child they were bringing into the world. Diana Hawthorne was nothing but a bad memory for Mr. McCoy, and I'd be surprised if Ms. Kincaid ever gave her a second thought. You will hear from those who knew her, from those who investigated the allegations of conspiracy, from Mr. McCoy, from the witnesses who overheard her planning sessions. There isn't a doubt in the world that she's guilty of the most terrible crime, an assassination if you will, of the woman who put her in jail and took away her livelihood, a cold blooded execution of the woman who replaced her in Mr. McCoy's affections as well as in her old job. You will hear, as New York law allows, the impact statement of Mr. McCoy. And you will do the right thing, convinced and convicted by the evidence alone, that Diana Hawthorne is a cold blooded killer who deserves not a drop of sympathy from you. Thank you." He took his seat.

Diana got up, slowly, dressed in a new suit, with a new haircut. She almost resembled her old self, the self-assured professional woman. She smiled at the jury. "That's quite a tale Mr. Stone weaves," she began, "but that's just what it is, a tale, with nothing to support it but gossip from inmates convicted of felonies who cut deals with the prosecution. Yes, I represented John Baumgarten at one time, and we formed a bond of sorts. Of course he came to visit, bringing small gifts as one does when visiting a prisoner unjustly imprisoned on a questionable charge. You will hear of my cellmate, the wife of a New Jersey mobster, who made the mistake of laundering mob money in New York State, and who, with the typical mob mentality, encouraged me to seek the ultimate payback. I listened to her, what choice did I have, but that was all. I discarded her devious plans as nothing more than the workings of a mob wife's mind. Claire Kincaid's death was indeed nothing more than a tragic accident. The prosecution will try to play upon your sympathy, emphasizing Ms. Kincaid's pregnancy – without benefit of wedlock I might add, which, given her position as a public servant, was inappropriate in itself, but you must remember that the State of New York does not recognize a fetus as a person, so the pregnancy is not relevant. You will find them tugging at your heartstrings to camouflage their weak case, presenting that unfortunate young woman as Saint Claire, and I assure you, no, I will establish beyond doubt, that she was no saint. You will hear what their so-called prison witnesses really heard, and you will realize this sham prosecution is nothing more than an attempt by a bereaved lover to take his pain and loss out on the closest target, me. This is a persecution, ladies and gentlemen, not a prosecution. And you will, being sensible people, realize that acquittal is your only option, leaving me to rebuild my life. I can only hope Mr. McCoy finds a way to rebuild his. Thank you." She retired to her table and waited.

"Mr. Stone, call your first witness."

Ben stood and said "The People call Doctor Elizabeth Rodgers."

Jamie glanced at the jury. She had discouraged Ben from opening with the carnage, but he said he wanted that first and foremost in their minds, and he wanted to spare Jack having to listen to it. Foundational, he told Jamie, show exactly how she died and leave that in their minds.

Dr. Rodgers came in, dressed in a suit, confident and cool. She was sworn in, and Ben asked her to state her name and position

"Elizabeth Rodgers, Chief Medical Examiner for New York County."

"And in that capacity, you perform autopsies?"

"I do."

"You're familiar with violent death."

"I am."

"Could you tell us, did you perform the autopsy on Claire Kincaid?"

"Yes."

"Would you describe the proceedings for the jury?"

"Yes. If my photographs could be brought in?"

A bailiff went for the easel covered with a cloth and set it up next to Rodgers. "Ms. Kincaid died at Hudson Medical Center and her body was brought to the medical examiner's office an hour later. I personally performed the autopsy." She got up and pulled the cloth. A black and white photograph of Claire's mangled body faced the jury, and gasps went up. "She suffered massive blunt force trauma from the impact, the brain swelling was enough to kill her, but her ribs were crushed, her pelvis broken, as were her knees. You can see from the photograph that her head took a major blow." She pointed to the wound on Claire's forehead. The bailiff then covered the photograph and removed the easel.

"Did you find anything else when you performed the autopsy?"

"She was a very healthy twenty-nine year old woman, eight weeks pregnant, in great shape."

"Thank you, Dr. Rodgers." He walked back to his table.

Diana got up, circling toward Diana. "Dr. Rodgers. I'm sure you did a thorough job, but tell me, wasn't there a conflict of interest? Shouldn't someone else have performed that task?"

"I am the chief medical examiner, there's no one more qualified than I am."

Diana smiled. "But didn't you have a personal relationship with Ms. Kincaid?"

Liz frowned. "We didn't socialize, if that's what you mean. Of course I met with her often in the course of professional duties."

"Did you have an opinion of her?"

"I liked her."

"And that didn't affect your judgment?"

"Certainly not. She was a body, and I had to get the answers to the cause of her death."

"And how did her pregnancy contribute to the cause of her death?"

Liz frowned. "It didn't. It did help explain her good health, she clearly took care of herself. And I was asked if I found anything else when I did the autopsy. I found a perfectly formed male fetus."

"A fetus is not a person in the eyes of the laws of this state, correct?"

"Yes, that's true," Liz said, shifting on the hard chair.

"Did Ms. Kincaid show any signs of previous disease, or recent sexual contact?"

Liz frowned, her eyes flashing. "Absolutely no signs of previous disease, but yes, there was evidence she'd had intercourse in the last forty-eight hours of her life."

"Did you test the semen for DNA?"

"No, there was no reason to do so. She was in a committed relationship."

"With a man twice her age. Isn't it possible she sought the companionship of someone closer to her age?"

Liz sighed. "It's highly unlikely. I can't say impossible, but knowing Claire Kincaid, it's inconceivable."

Ben stood. "Your Honor, I object to this line of questioning. Ms. Kincaid is not on trial, and her sexual history is irrelevant."

Diana shot back with "Her personal history is important. The prosecution wishes to paint her as a saint, innocence personified, and myself as the Wicked Witch of the West."

Lisa Pongracic sighed. This was not going to get out of hand. "Overruled, but wind it up, Ms. Hawthorne, now."

Diana nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Rodgers." She turned and walked back to her table. Liz left the stand and took a seat in the gallery in the front row with the women attorneys.

One of the uniformed officers who first responded to the accident scene was called and sworn. Ben approached him. "Sir, you were the first on the scene. Can you tell us what you found?"

"The smaller car, the victim's car, had been pushed several feet away from the impact with the truck. A young woman was inside, severely injured. I called for an ambulance and fire response, since they carry the jaws of life. And I found the passenger pounding the driver of the other car. I promptly restrained him, and put the driver of the truck in handcuffs, in my car. He smelled of alcohol, and made no effort to resist. Then I aided in freeing Ms. Kincaid from her car, once I had Detective Briscoe seated on a curb. One paramedic did a quick examination of him, then all attention turned to the young woman in the car."

"How long have you been on the force, sir?"

"Six years."

"And you've seen many accidents in that time, several of them fatal?

"I have."

"And what was your opinion regarding Ms. Kincaid?"

"That if she wasn't dead then, she would be soon. She weighed maybe one twenty, that truck weighed a ton."

"Can you estimate how fast the truck was traveling when it struck Ms. Kincaid?"

"In excess of forty-five miles an hour."

"Did you see skid marks, any indication that the driver tried to avoid a collision?"

"No sir, I did not."

"Thank you, sir. I have no more questions."

Diana rose. "Just a few questions, Officer." Her smile was warm, disarming. "It was raining that night, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"So seeing skid marks would be extremely difficult, would it not?"

"Difficult but not impossible, especially to a trained eye."

"And you determined on the spot that the driver was drunk?"

"He reeked of alcohol, and he later blew a point zero eight, over the legal limit."

"So your conclusions, as the investigating traffic officer, was that this was nothing more than a drunken driving accident."

"Yes ma'am."

"Thank you, officer. I have no more questions."

He left the stand and the courtroom. Ben then called Lennie Briscoe, who was sworn and stated his name and occupation. Ben stood before him, relaxed.

"Detective Briscoe, you were in the car with Ms. Kincaid?"

"I was."

"Why was that?"

"She was giving me a ride home."

"And can you describe what happened?"

"We were talking, and suddenly these headlights came out of an intersection at high speed and slammed into her little car. My head hit the window on my side of the car, cutting my forehead, but otherwise I was OK. I got out of the car to check on Claire. I've seen a lot of dead bodies in my career, I knew she was either gone or would be soon." He kept his tone dry, dispassionate. "And then I went for the driver of the truck, I'm ashamed to say."

"Why did you do that?"

"I cared about that young woman, she was like a daughter to me. She didn't deserve what happened."

"Move to strike," Diana called.

The judge nodded. "The jury will disregard the witness's last remark."

Ben moved on. "She was bringing you home from a bar, correct?"

He sighed. "Yeah. I'd run into McCoy in the same bar, he was waiting for her, but then he got tired of waiting and left. Something, I still can't say exactly what, made me order a drink, a double, and in the time it took for Ms. Kincaid to arrive, I'd had several."

"Did you notice any patron come in after Ms. Kincaid and leave before you did?"

"No. I was engaged in conversation with her, we were joking that it wouldn't be so bad if she was my kid." A fond smile broke on his face. "I do remember that she looked up and at the onrushing headlights in the seconds before it hit."

"So she knew what was coming."

"Yes."

"Did she say anything?"

"No. No time."

"Thank you, Detective." Ben walked back to his table.

Diana strode toward Lennie, trying to hide her animosity. "Were you attracted to Ms. Kincaid, Detective?"

He frowned. "I'm not sure I understand your question. She was a very attractive person, but it wasn't sexual on my part. I was more than twice her age."

"That didn't seem to bother Mr. McCoy."

"Your Honor!" Ben objected.

"Counselor, this is your one warning. Be careful where you tread. The jury will disregard the defense's last remark, it's stricken." She nodded at the court reporter.

"So were you attracted to Ms. Kincaid?"

"As a person. Not as a romantic partner."

"What did you talk about in the car?"

"Asked and answered," Ben called out, and the judge nodded. Diana frowned, then took a different tack.

"How long did you know Ms. Kincaid?"

"Uh, three years, I think. We met when she joined Mr. Stone's staff."

"Did you notice if she seemed attracted to older men?"

"Your Honor," Ben said, standing.

"Foundational to my case, Your Honor. Ms. Kincaid was not a saint, and the jury has a right to know that."

"We are not trying the victim, Ms. Hawthorne. I'll allow the question as it is to stand, but you are not to go where I think you're going."

Lennie looked at the judge, who nodded for him to answer. "No, I did not notice any attraction to older men."

Diana gave up, she wasn't going to be able to push through questions about Claire's sexual history right now. "I have no more questions for this witness," she said, and retired to her table.

Ben stood. "Your Honor, I will be recalling this witness later."

"Very well. You're excused for now, Mr. Briscoe, but you remain under oath and may not discuss your testimony with anyone."

Then Ben called Jack McCoy, working backward through that terrible day. Jack was sworn, and he studiously avoided looking at Diana, looking at Ben or at the row of women just on the other side of the bar. He was breathing slowly and deeply.

"Mr. McCoy," Ben began, "would you tell us about that day, the last day of Claire Kincaid's life?"

He nodded. "It began at midnight, with the execution of Mickey Scott. Then we drove home. Claire was too quiet, and I tried to talk to her, and she broke down in tears. I thought it was probably hormones, but then she began to rage against the death penalty, and we argued until we got home. We went to bed, and I tried to comfort her. I thought everything was going to be OK, but in the morning, she was still upset, and the argument began afresh. Traffic was heavy as usual in Manhattan and I wanted out of the car, wanted to avoid more arguing about a done deal. She said she wasn't feeling well, I was sure it was morning sickness, and offered up the flu as an excuse for the office, then told her to take the day off. I tried calling her several times, but got no answer. By one, I couldn't take it anymore, I kept thinking about her, about the execution, and I took the afternoon off. I wandered around and found this little bar, where I spent the afternoon and early evening hours. At some point, I paged her and she returned my call, promising to come get me. Detective Briscoe showed up about then, and after what seemed an eternity, I asked him what time it was, I couldn't read my watch." He sighed. "He said 'it says she's not coming' which pissed me off, not at him, but at Claire. I thought she was carrying this whole thing too far. So I left, in a taxi. The next thing I remember is the phone ringing and my world changed in a heartbeat."

"Now, sir, I apologize for this question, but the defense has inquired of the medical examiner. Ms. Kincaid has sexual relations in the forty-eight hours before she died."

"We made love the day before the execution, a way of ending the arguments and drawing closer, remembering that we were was what really mattered."

"Ms. Kincaid was faithful to you?"

"Absolutely."

"How can you be sure?"

"We lived together, we worked together. We were rarely apart, and besides, we were totally committed to each other. It was not in Claire's nature to betray anyone. She'd been betrayed and knew how it felt."

"Hearsay, Your Honor," Diana called.

"I'll allow it," was the response.

Ben changed gears, taking Jack right back to that night. "When you arrived at the hospital, was Ms. Kincaid still alive?"

"Yes. Mr. Schiff sent a car for me, and the driver escorted me into a waiting room, where I found her parents, Detectives Briscoe and Curtis, and Lieutenant Van Buren. I was told the prognosis was not good, that she was in surgery, but her injuries were severe. And then the surgeon came out." His voice quivered for a second, then he was back in control. "She died on the table. She and our baby."

"Your Honor," Diana objected, "as Mr. McCoy well knows, a fetus is not a person."

"It was to me," he snapped.

"Mr. McCoy," Judge Pongracic said, gently, "I will allow Mr. McCoy's feelings regarding his impending child to stand. You have not been charged with killing the fetus, Ms. Hawthorne, just its mother."

Diana smiled, boy was that last remark grounds for appeal, she thought. "Very well, Your Honor."

"I have nothing more for this witness," Ben said, and he met Jack's eyes.

Diana stood before him, a tormenting smile on her face. She read the pain and rage in his eyes, and hoped to provoke him into doing something truly stupid. "So," she began, "you spent the day in a bar. Fond of booze, are you, Mr. McCoy?"

"Objection, Your Honor, relevance."

"Goes to character, Your Honor, to the accuracy of his memories."

"Overruled."

Jack looked at Diana with more hatred than he'd ever felt in his life. "I like to drink, as most people do."

"Ever drink too much, like on the day in question?"

He frowned. "Yes, I was intoxicated that day."

"Any days since then?"

"I suppose one or two wouldn't pass muster with AA."

"Do you belong to AA, Mr. McCoy?"

"No."

"Back to the day in question. If you loved Ms. Kincaid, as you now allege, why didn't you wait for her? After all, a pregnant woman wandering into a strange bar? Doesn't sound like the actions of a man who loved his woman."

Jack looked at Ben, waiting for an objection that didn't come. "I was impaired, and as you well know, I have a short fuse sometimes. I was tired, I wanted to go to sleep. And I knew Briscoe was in the bar, he'd certainly look after her if she needed it. Make no mistake about it, Ms. Hawthorne, I loved that woman, more than I've ever loved anyone."

That hit home, but she'd opened the door. "And you're certain the child she carried was yours?"

"I am."

"How can you be so sure?" Diana twisted her knife, wanting to wound this man, provoke him.

"I was there. And I don't recall anyone else sharing our bed."

"Oh, so you planned this, you know when it happened?"

He flushed and again appealed to Ben, who shrugged. "Yes, we knew when it happened."

She switched tacks, like an expert sailor. "You're quite a bit older than Ms. Kincaid, correct?"

"I certainly am now," he replied, "Since she'll never get older."

"But you weren't the first older man she took to her bed, were you?"

This time Ben did object. "Your Honor, you've already ruled on this."

Lisa fixed Diana with a penetrating glare. "I have. You'll be writing a check at the end of the day, Counselor, and your cross-examination ends here." She looked at the jury. "The defense's last question is stricken, and you will disregard it." Then she looked at Jack, and he saw a glimmer of sympathy in her eyes. "You're excused, Mr. McCoy." Then she looked at her watch. "And we'll adjourn here for lunch, court is in recess until one o'clock." She tapped her gavel and got up.

--xx—

The Harem, as they jokingly referred to themselves privately, took Jack to lunch. He felt they were guarding him, as if he'd dive into a bottle before he got to make his impact statement. They sat in a large booth near the front of the restaurant and ordered. Jack didn't have much appetite, but he ordered a steak sandwich to keep the commentary to a minimum.

"Opinions," Ruthie said.

"Diana's going after Claire, that's obvious, but I don't think Pongracic is going to let her get away it. Those were some cheap shots, Jack."

He shrugged. "She can take all the cheap shots she wants. That was my baby, I know it and everyone else knows it, she isn't going to plant doubt in my heart."

Danielle reached in her purse and removed an envelope. "Call it prescience, but." She cleared her throat. "Rodgers and I had a long talk a couple of weeks ago. She had some preserved tissue from Claire and from the baby, and I, of course, had that paper coffee cup from our day in the park." She passed the envelope to Jack. "It was most certainly your baby."

He glanced at the DNA report, then gave it back to Danielle. "I know," he said, softly. "But thank you." He stared into space. "I always wondered why she fell in love with me, when there were so many guys her age sniffing around, but I loved those 'lucky bastard' looks I'd get when we were out."

Ruthie shuddered. "God, what if she calls Joel Thayer?"

"For what? He has no standing, nothing to say on her death," Danielle said.

"But he'd certainly make a great character assassination witness."

"Pongracic has ruled on that," Danielle argued. "Claire is not on trial."

"It won't stop Diana from trying," Shelly said. "You were great, Jack. I sort of expected you to go flying across the box and break her neck on the spot."

He smiled, that crooked smile they all knew. "I was tempted."

Lunch arrived, and they talked of other things. Jack took part in the conversation, even laughed at some of Ruthie's antics, and then it was time to return for the afternoon session.


	12. Chapter 12

Ben called his next witness, the prisoner who'd overheard Diana forcefully instructing John Baumgarten about opportunity. She entered the courtroom, a mouse of a woman, right down to her facial features – all she lacked, Ben thought, were some whiskers. Jamie had spent a long time prepping her, and Ben hoped she held up under Diana's cross. She took the stand and was sworn in.

"Ma'am," Ben began, gently, "you spent two years at Bedford Prison?"

"I did. Grand theft auto."

"And has the District Attorney's office made any deals with you for your testimony?"

"No, I served my time, complete."

"Thank you. Now, please tell the jury what you heard and when."

"It was about a month before I was sprung. She," she pointed at Diana, "was sitting with this big guy I'd saw her with before, at the next table. She was almost yelling at him, telling him that opportunities were limited and he had to make a move real soon. She said some poor guy was about to be offed by the State, and that might be the right time, said this Kincaid woman would be distracted by that. She told him she knew Kincaid had problems with the death penalty, but some man named McCoy was a pit bull on the issue. She told the big man to follow Kincaid closely up to and after the execution, and he said he would. He seemed a little scared of Hawthorne. Then me visitors come, and I ignored them."

"You specifically heard her use the name Kincaid?"

"Yes sir. It was the first time I'd heard the name, it kind of stuck with me, I liked it."

"But you never met Ms. Kincaid?"

"No sir. Some fat broad prosecuted me, name of Smithson. But Hawthorne, she had a real hate on for this Kincaid, it was scary to hear her talk. I stayed away from her as much as I could."

"And you never overheard Ms. Hawthorne in conversation with her cell mate, Joan Woodward Viola?"

She shook her head, violently. "No. I was scared to death of that woman, with her mob family. I saw Woodward and I ran."

"But Ms. Hawthorne wasn't scared of Ms. Woodward?"

"Don't think so, they was cell mates for months, you never heard no yelling coming from their cell."

"Thank you, Mrs. Benson." Ben walked away.

Diana got up and strode to the witness stand. "Why, Delores, how odd to see you again. I'm really curious, how did you overhear anything I said with the racket going on in that room, all those children?"

Delores Benson glared at Diana. "You was practically yelling at that poor man about the Kincaid bitch, as you called her. My table was two feet away."

"Hmm. Did you ever hear me tell John Baumgarten to kill Claire Kincaid?"

"Well, no, but you was after him to follow her and look for an opportunity."

"An opportunity to do what?" Diana leaned forward just a tad. "To do what?"

Delores Benson shifted uncomfortably. "You didn't say, but he seemed to know what you was talking about." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You sure told him to follow that woman."

"That doesn't mean I wished him to harm her, does it? Did I ever harm anyone in prison?"

"No, you had Joan protecting you, ain't nobody gonna mess with the Violas."

"But I didn't harm anyone, did I?"

"No," she repeated.

"Didn't I help other inmates with legal work?"

"Yeah."

"Did you ever hear me talk about Claire Kincaid to anyone besides John Baumgarten?"

Benson hesitated. "Well, you did talk some to that woman, that nurse, that came to visit you a couple of times. You talked about how evil she was."

"But I didn't ask the nurse to harm her, did I?"

"No."

"So the reality is you don't know what you're talking about, right?"

"I know what I heard."

"I'm sure you do," Diana said sarcastically. "I'm through with this witness," she said, and she turned around, hesitating when she saw Jack staring at her. She flashed her best taunting smile and returned to her table.

Jack felt it in his gut, twisting and painful. He had to leave. He put his hand on Sally's arm and whispered "I have to get out of here before I kill her."

Sally looked at him, alarmed. "Want me to go with you?"

He shook his head, but she gathered her coat and leaned over to speak to Ruthie. She got up and followed Jack out of the courtroom. He walked outside and down the steps, Sally struggling to keep up with his long strides. On the sidewalk, he turned and looked down at her. "I'm heading for a bar."

"Jack." She took his arm. "This thing is going to wrap up today, you have to be sober if you want to make a statement."

"Sally, I just want to sit and remember."

"Then sit with me, over coffee, and tell me your stories."

He looked at his former lover and felt her caring. "OK," he said, after a beat.

They went to a quiet coffee shop around the block and took a table in the back. Jack shook his head when Sally asked if he minded if she smoked, and she lit up. Jack sipped his coffee, then put it down.

"It's the taunting I can't stand," he said. "She's enjoying it, knowing what she took away from me. And I don't think she believes they'll sentence her to death."

"She is putting up a defense. She's scheduled to testify after lunch, then closing arguments. Then you get to speak for Claire. Can you do that, Jack?"

"Without breaking down?" He shrugged. A memory came to the fore, and he closed his eyes. He was napping, it was a Sunday afternoon, and then Claire jumped on him, laughing that merry gremlin's cackle, forcing him on his back and then having her way with him.

"I don't think you can put that in a victim impact statement," Sally dryly said.

He was stunned, he didn't realize he'd spoken aloud, and then he blushed.

Sally smiled. "Don't blush. I remember a few of those Sunday afternoons myself." She patted his hand. "Ancient history, I know." She crushed her cigarette in the glass ashtray between them. "I don't mind hearing about it, Jack. She was damned good for you."

His eyes warmed. "She was. You should have seen her the day the stick turned blue, oh God, it's funny now, but she was like, I don't know, unglued. She made me read it, then she said 'I think I'm going to puke.' And she did. And then she counted, realized when it must have happened, and threw her pills across the room. I think I started laughing, seeing Claire as the anti-Claire, and she turned to me, pushed me on the couch, and said 'I didn't do this by myself, Jesuit boy.'"

Sally smiled. "I gather she called you that a lot."

"She did. It was better than you motherfucking son a bitch, which she used more than a few times." His smile was fond.

"I imagine she did." Her cell phone rang, and she dug it out of her purse. "Bell," she said. "Hi. We're in Whitney's, around the block. OK, I'll warn him." She closed the phone and put it back in her pure. "Ruthie. She wants to join us."

Jack shrugged. "I don't have the energy to fight."

"So don't. So what else happened on the day the stick turned blue?"

He smiled. "Great, now I have a label for that memory." He picked up his coffee and sipped. "She flipped out, she couldn't believe her birth control failed, and I kept telling her it wasn't the end of the world. 'Yeah?' she said, 'and are we going to do the conventional thing and get married, or what?' I told her we'd do whatever she wanted. Then she crawled in my lap and I held her. That's when she said Ruthie would never let her live it down."

Ruthie arrived then and slid into a chair. She ordered coffee and looked at Jack and Sally. "Ben's rested his case," she said. "I thought I'd get out of there before I started shooting rubber bands at Diana or something. So what are we talking about?"

"Memory lane," Sally said, "the day the stick turned blue."

Jack blushed. "You can stop," he said, with no malice in his voice.

"No, it's too great a story, keep talking," Sally said.

He shrugged. "So I held her and said fuck Ruthie," he cut an apologetic glance at Ms. Miller, "and she lifted her head from my chest and said 'Don't you dare.' That got me laughing again, and I told her she'd be a spectacular mother, not to worry. And that I'd be there, she didn't have to worry about that." Tears filled the corners of his eyes and he let them fall unimpeded. "We ended up making slow love on the couch, we never seemed to make it to the bed." He sighed.

"You gotta get rid of that couch, Jack," Sally said, imagining from experience the memories it held.

"I know. I just don't seem to have the energy."

"We can get one for you," Ruthie said, a warning note in her voice, "you want the harem picking out your furniture?"

He shook his head. "You ladies scare me, God knows what you'd pick."

"Whatever it is, it won't remind you of…" Sally trailed off.

"She believed that sex was better than a drink for unwinding after a long day," he said, suddenly comfortable sharing these intimate memories.

"Oh Jesus," Ruthie blurted, "that's the last time I'm sitting on your office couch."

He laughed, a real laugh. "You have no idea how close to the truth you are, Ruthie."

"Jesus," Sally said, "you guys did it at the office? With Adam right across the hall?" She lit another cigarette, and Ruthie bummed one.

Jack blushed again. "Often, but Adam was usually gone for the day."

"I'm having a major ick moment," Ruthie said, "imagining Adam Schiff barging in at the wrong moment."

"Oh, Jack would just look up and say 'how ya doing, Adam, I'm a bit busy at the moment,'" Sally said. "And before you ask, no, Jack and I never did it on the office couch. And you know you were going to ask, Ruthie Miller."

Ruthie waved that away. "Perish the thought, I'm counting how many times I've sat on that couch, conferring with Jack and Claire."

Jack was openly amused at their laughter, which he knew was not at his expense. Or Claire's. "Innocence is bliss, Ruthie."

Ruthie shook her head. "Not anymore. I'll never walk in that office again without imagining your naked butt…" She drew on her cigarette. "Damn, Claire Kincaid on the office couch, I love it."

"She worried about someone barging in, rattling the locked door, the first couple of times, but then she got off on the forbidden." Jack shrugged. "At least I didn't hear directions and commentary." A half-smile broke on his face. He wasn't about to tell them about Claire's bedroom vocabulary.

Ruthie's pager went off. "They've recessed for lunch. Shelly thinks Diana will run through her witnesses this afternoon. Are you going to be there for that?"

Jack frowned. "I'm not sure I could take it."

Ruthie took his measure. "Stay sober, if there's time, Ben will want you to give your impact statement. You can't let that girl down, Jack."

"I won't."

And he didn't. He was called late in the afternoon, to make his impact statement. He knew Ben had nailed her with the evidence, now he had to speak for her. Help me, he pleaded, help me say the right things. He stepped to a podium set up for this purpose and looked at the judge. He drew a deep breath.

"Claire Kincaid was a human being," he began, "like all of us, she had flaws, but she had so much to give this world, give me. She was my world, the love of my life, and she was carrying our child. We had such plans, and it was all stolen from us, from me. I'm trying hard to put my life back together, but it isn't easy. There's a terrible hole in my heart, and it won't close. I remember her laughter, her sense of fun, weekends away from the city. I remember how hard we worked to bring justice to the victims, never suspecting she'd be a victim herself. She was a very good lawyer who was going to be a great one, and she would have served the city well for years to come. She would have been a terrific mother, a great wife. She was my soul mate, and I don't think that's too dramatic a term to use. I will miss her for the rest of my life, and I don't know how to live that life without her. I look at Diana Hawthorne and I wonder how such evil could have taken root in her, that she would ruin so many lives. So many people loved Claire. This is the only chance for her to get the justice she so deserves. I wake up every morning, reaching for her, hoping it was just a bad dream, and then I remember. Getting up is a struggle, where's the meaning without her? Where's the little boy she would have adored and raised with such love and guidance? She was my moral compass, my lover, my partner in every sense of the word. And she was ripped from me. Please, give her the justice she so deserves and the law requires." He stepped away and left the courtroom without looking at anyone, vision blurry from tears.

Diana clenched her fists, furious that Judge Pongracic had allowed Jack to make an impact statement. What gave him the right to condemn her? His behavior was just as bad, if not worse, than hers. After all, she had learned everything she knew from him.

Judge Pongracic looked at Diana, her signal to begin her closing statement.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Diana said, rising to her feet. "The prosecution has woven together an impeccable story – I almost feel inclined to believe it myself. But that's all it is – a story, not the truth. The truth is that the prosecution has produced witnesses that were unreliable, that did not know what they were talking about, and skewed their testimony to incriminate me. The truth is that Claire Kincaid was not a saint, though the prosecution would have you believe that. They would have you believe that this young A.D.A. was the sun, around which the earth rotated. They would have you believe that I killed her out of jealousy. The truth is that she was killed in an accident, not by my hand. If you convict me, you convict someone innocent of the crime she is accused."

She sat down, proud at the way she had comported herself despite the anger that still burned in her. Ben Stone stood.

"You must convict Diana Hawthorne. We have built an airtight case against her, proving that she conspired with Joan Woodward Viola and John Baumgarten to kill Claire Kincaid. We have proved that the defendant's conspirator did not attempt to slow down at the traffic light that night, but continued to speed up. We have proved that Diana Hawthorne was vindictive, searching for revenge on Claire Kincaid.

"You must convict her. She has plead duress, insisted that her cellmate pressured her into arranging John Baumgarten's visits to jail, insisted that whatever she did was out of fear for her life. We have produced witnesses to prove that she was not afraid for her life, that she was on good terms with her cellmate, was not coerced in any sense of the word.

"Her actions took away one of the brightest stars in the District Attorney's office, a woman loved by nearly everyone – and all because of a misguided sense of revenge, a desire to punish Claire Kincaid for convicting her nearly a year ago, a jealousy that burned in her after Claire Kincaid took what Ms. Hawthorne believed was her place the arms of the man she loved.

"If there is any justice in the world, find her guilty. She deserves it."

With a deep sigh, Ben Stone sat down, hoping that the jury had been convinced by his closing arguments.

As the jury filed out of the room, ready to make their decision, Ben Stone caught Diana Hawthorne's eye. With a small sniff of triumph, she rose as the judge dismissed them, holding her head high as she walked out of the courtroom.


	13. Chapter 13

Jack found Sally and Ruthie glued to his side after Diana rested her case, and court was adjourned. His patience was tested, but he knew they cared, and he knew being alone right now was not the greatest idea ever to spring from his fertile brain. He knew a conviction would be nothing more than a broken hallelujah, justice but still, he would be deprived and alone. He drew a deep breath as he led his "harem" to his favorite bar, and he insisted on ordering a glass of numbness, the hell with them. They didn't argue, ordering drinks for themselves.

They settled in a booth. "What did you think of her closing statement," Sally said, deciding to attack the elephant in the room with a dart gun.

He shrugged. "About what I expected. I thought Ben put on a strong case, but I haven't reviewed the transcripts and exhibits."

"And I strongly urge you not to do so," Ruthie said, swirling her wine.

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "And why's that?"

Ruthie's hand reached across the table for his. "Because Rodgers showed the jury exactly what happened to Claire. You don't need to see that."

He freed his hand and drank. "I've seen. I insisted." He put his glass down. "I had to fight Rodgers like hell, but in the end, she capitulated."

"That really helped, didn't it?" Sally asked, sarcastically.

He focused on her. "I needed to know, to really know, she was dead, Sally. I went through most of it in a daze, the pictures confirmed, in gory detail, that she was gone and wasn't going to come back."

"I think I understand that," Ruthie said, "though I thought I was going to hurl when I saw them."

His smile was sad. "I know. You're defense attorneys, what do you think of Diana's chances?"

Ruthie shrugged. "Poor to hopeless. Those witnesses from Bedford were devastating. But it helped her that Baumgarten wouldn't testify, and I know Ben put enough pressure on him to squeeze the life out of him."

Jack shrugged. "He'll never get the death penalty on a conspiracy charge against him, I'm sure his attorney told him that, and I don't think he'd turn on the woman he thinks loves him. Little does he know Diana loves Diana and no one else."

"I keep fighting the urge to see her, ask her what in God's name she was thinking," Sally said, staring into space. "Maybe our common bond as your former lovers would get her to open up, now that trial is over."

Jack snorted. "She'd probably try to beat the hell out of you, Sally."

"Hey, I didn't spend five years in judo classes for nothing," Sally replied.

Then a tall, dark haired woman stood next to the table, and Ruthie involuntarily jumped before recognizing Jamie Ross. "I thought I'd find you here," she said. "May I join you?"

Jack slid over on the booth bench and Jamie sat down. "How are you doing, Jack?"

He shrugged. "I just want it over."

"I don't think it will take long," she said. "How are you, girls?"

The other attorneys nodded. "We're on a mission from God," Ruthie said, "saving Jack from overdosing on J&B."

He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Helpless cause, my dear."

"You don't know me, then," Ruthie said.

"No," he said, quietly, "but Claire did. She thought you were great." He looked at her, remembering an evening when Claire stumbled in after a night out with Ruthie. He so rarely saw Claire drunk that he found it funny. She gave him her one-eyed stare, and then approached him as he lay sprawled on the couch.

"Amused, Jesuit boy?" She grinned, and he knew he was in for it, and there was nothing to be done but submit gracefully and athletically. She was naked and pulling down his sweatpants before he knew what was happening. He told her later he felt like Silver, and she asked if that made her the Lone Ranger.

"Claire had her moments," Ruthie said. She looked at Jamie. "Sorry, we don't mean to exclude you from the conversation."

Jamie shrugged. "I just wish I'd had the opportunity to know her."

"No you don't," Jack said, firmly, "because then you'd know how much it hurts to have lost her."

Jamie put her hand on Jack's. "I have a very good idea of what it must feel like," she said. "I see what it's done to you guys."

Sally shrugged. "It will soon get better, life has a way of easing this kind of pain."

Jack looked at her. "And that from someone who didn't particularly like Claire."

"Hey," Sally said, "I didn't know her well enough to dislike her. What little I saw of her I did like, especially the time she told me to tell you to fuck off."

Jack shrugged. "I don't think I want to know which time that was."

"Heard it frequently, did you, Jack?" Ruthie teased.

He smiled. "Once a week, at least. She was the only assistant I had who truly stood up to me. She knew how to pound my head with her principles." He looked from Sally, assistant past, to Jamie, assistant present. "But don't get any ideas from that," he said to Jamie.

"Wouldn't think of it," she answered, smiling.

"You remember the Carmel case?" Ruthie asked, finishing her wine and signaling for another round. "She and I had a quick lunch just before she figured out the kid was lying. She felt she'd been a sucker, that something was off with the kid, but she wasn't sure what. Then she interviewed him, and you know the rest."

"She had good instincts," Jack said. "And a great heart."

"That she did," Ruthie replied, "though I never could drag her ass to a Mets game."

Jack laughed. "Her idea of sport varied greatly from televised team sports."

Sally snickered. "Why Jack McCoy, are you hinting at sex?"

He blushed. "Well, it's true." He spun one of the ashtrays on the table. "Why," he asked suddenly, "is it so easy to talk to you guys about her?"

"Because we cared about her, too?" Ruthie said. "It's OK to talk to us. We understand, as much as anyone can."

He nodded. "Sometimes I think it's getting better, and I owe part of that to you." He looked at Jamie. "You haven't tried to be her, you've been yourself, and you've been kind when I didn't deserve kindness."

Jamie touched his wrist. "You do deserve kindness. And if I can do anything to help you, just let me know."

He nodded, but he was thinking he wanted to do some serious drinking, and to do that, he'd have to ditch this posse of guardian angels. He waited a little while, then excused himself, slipping out into the night. He caught a cab to his apartment.

He turned on the lights as soon as he entered. Looking around, he sighed. It was getting ridiculous. He changed into sweatpants and a tee shirt, then cleaned the apartment. Two hours later, he looked around, satisfied that it would pass a Kincaid inspection. Then he refilled the scotch he'd been working on as he worked, put a new CD in the player, and sat on the couch. He ran his palm over the fabric, and realized he really would have to get rid of it if he hoped to move forward. Remembering Claire writhing under him every time he sat on it was not healthy, though he assumed those memories would fade with time. He was stuck with the office couch, though, he could hardly tell Adam it needed to be replaced because he'd had sex countless times with Claire on it.

He thought about Jamie, about her compassion, her earnestness, and her sharp brain. She was proving a good fit for him, so maybe the old man knew what he was doing when he hired her. She was easy to talk to, though their conversations lacked the intimacy and banter of his conversations with Claire. No one, he reminded himself, was going to compare with Claire and he needed to stop doing it.

He remembered a conversation they'd had, on a weekend away, at their favorite place on the coast of Maine. It was shortly after the Sandig case, and Claire was reeling from her part in getting a man sentenced to death. She talked of death, wondering what it was like to know your life would end at a precise moment, something she had also said about Mickey Scott. Did she, he wondered, realize her life was ending at that precise second when those headlights illuminated her face and that truck smashed into that fragile body? He hoped not.

_Stop blaming yourself._

He'd play. "OK, who should I blame then, Diana and Baumgarten?"

_Yeah, it's a start. Even if you'd been there, there was nothing you could do._

"I suppose not." He sipped. "The jury is going to convict her."

_Ben put on a great case, but what's with this Saint Claire crap? You know perfectly well I was anything but._

He smiled. "I admit you had an Irish temper, but you managed to control it most of the time."

_You have a great assistant in Jamie. Relax and get to know her, stop comparing her to me._

"You've got me there. I'll try, OK?"

_Try, my ass. Just do it. Loosen up and let her work with you, not against you._

"Can I help it if I miss you?"

_That will fade, I promise. It's the way we're wired, otherwise life would come to a grinding halt. We're born, we live, we die. And those we leave behind must move on._

He sighed. "I'll try, Claire. I really miss talking to you."

_So what are we doing now, Jesuit boy?_

"I'm pretty sure these conversations are imaginary."

She didn't respond, and he half-wondered if he'd pissed her off. The light wavered in front of him, and he blinked. When he opened his eyes, she stood there, in her jeans, tee shirt, and black leather jacket, her hair curly and slightly windblown. He almost dropped his glass. "I'm hallucinating."

_That's something you'll have to decide for yourself, but I wouldn't recommend asking Liz Olivet about it._ That teasing smile he so loved was there. He put his glass down and made to reach for her, but she stepped back. _You can't,_ she said. _Now, you get your stubborn ass in gear and move on. I'm perfectly fine, and you can talk to me anytime you want. I may not answer you, but I assure you I'm here, listening. Be a good boy and go to bed, and let's see what kind of dreams you have._ She faded away.

He rubbed his eyes. Jesus, he thought, if I'm hallucinating, I'm really in trouble. He looked at his nearly empty glass, then put it down and got up, turning off lights and going into his bedroom. He got in bed and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He soon succumbed to the booze and drifted off to sleep.

He did dream. He dreamed of making love to her, of holding her in his arms afterward, talking, just talking. It felt so good, to love her and to hold her, and then he woke with a jerk. He'd had a wet dream, something that hadn't happened since adolescence. He got up and walked into the bathroom, yanking off his soiled underwear and cleaning himself. Then he returned to his bedroom, getting clean shorts, and crawled back into bed.

It was just a dream, wish fulfillment, he thought, turning on his side and hugging the pillow. He didn't regret it, or feel embarrassed, but it had seemed so real it was kind of scary. He really did have to get a grip, move on somehow. He would go out Saturday morning and buy a new couch, that was for damn sure.

--xx--

He was in Ben's office, sprawled on the couch, talking to Ben, who sat behind his desk, when the phone rang. Ben merely said "Thank you" and hung up. He looked at Jack. "Verdict."

Jack was on his feet in a second. Ben was more restrained, checking his tie knot and adjusting his suit coat. Jamie met them in the corridor, having received the same call. Together, they went to the courthouse. Jack sat in the front row of the gallery behind the prosecution table. Diana came in, dressed in a conservative black suit and took her seat at the defense table without looking toward the prosecution.

It was a familiar procedure. The jury filed in, and the judge asked if they'd reached a verdict. The paper was brought to her by the bailiff, she looked at it, refolded it, and had it returned to the foreman.

"On the sole count of the indictment, conspiracy to murder a law enforcement agent, we find the defendant, Diana Hawthorne, guilty."

Diana nearly sank into her chair as her knees buckled. She gripped the table's edge and kept to her feet.

"Then according to the laws of the State of New York, the sentencing phase will begin next week. Ms. Hawthorne will remain in custody. I will see all parties on Monday morning." Judge Pongracic banged her gavel and it was over.

Ben turned to Jack, his eyes full of compassion. "For Claire," he whispered.

Jack nodded, feeling that sense of a broken hallelujah, and he walked out of the courtroom, the courthouse. He hailed a cab, made it stop by a flower shop, and bought a single red rose. He then directed the driver to the cemetery and instructed him to wait.

He walked to Claire's grave and knelt, placing the rose against her headstone. "I know you know," he whispered, "but still, you're getting justice. I hope it helps."

He seemed to feel her arms around his neck, her head resting on his, a finger catching the tear that slipped down his cheek. Then he got up and had the taxi take him back to Hogan Place. There was work to do.

--xx—

Diana was in shock. She'd never expected to be convicted on the slender evidence the prosecution presented. How could she expect something like that? She'd made her case – had proven Claire was not perfect, had not implicated herself this time around – but still she had lost.

It was Jack's doing, she knew. It was all his fault. If only Judge Pongracic had not allowed him to make his impact statement! Jack was a public figure – he appeared on television often, always flanking Adam Schiff, and the jury had recognized him. They had believed what he had said because they knew who he was. It was not fair!

And now she was convicted. At least Baumgarten had not turned on her – even though she knew Ben had squeezed him hard. That was a small comfort, at least. He had not betrayed her…

But everyone else had. Her former colleagues – Ruthie, Sally, Danielle, Shelley – had all turned on her, rushing to Jack's side. And Sally hadn't even _liked_ Claire! But obviously Jack had persuaded her to rejoin his "harem"… just to convict Diana.

How could the jury not see how biased they were against her? How could they not see that Ben had tried to set her up, that Jack hated her, that all the witnesses they called were twisted into believing that _she_ was the criminal, not Claire? It was Claire who was the one who deserved to be punished… she should be _rewarded_ for doing what she did! Why didn't anyone realize that?

She shook the bars of her cell angrily, furious at being sent to Sing-Sing to await transfer to death row. _She _used to send people to Sing-Sing – she was not sent there herself! How could this have happened? Why did this have to happen to her?

With a sigh of desperation, she sank down onto her bunk and began to cry bitterly – not for what she had done, but for the consequences of her actions.


	14. Chapter 14

A week had passed since her sentencing hearing – an entire week. Tomorrow morning she would be moved upstate to await her execution. The fact that years would pass before she finally was executed meant nothing – the point was that it would happen, unless she won an appeal. But for the first time she began to doubt in her skills as a lawyer – presenting a case didn't matter to a jury anymore, it was all about character, sympathy... and she'd never been a warm person.

Her five cellmates returned from dinner – she had refused to attend – and she scooted further onto her small bunk. Despite herself, she was terrified of them – they certainly were not the kind of criminals Diana had ever associated with, not even as an A.D.A. – Jack had always handled the prison visits, not her. And her fellow inmates at Bedford were certainly a higher class of criminal than these five, violent women.

She avoided their eyes, having learned early in prison life that not showing any interest in one's surroundings made one nearly invisible. But she felt the bunk creak slightly as someone sat down on it.

"Here," said a voice. Diana looked at the speaker, startled at the refined tone of her voice. The woman was holding out a small thermos. Seeing Diana's nervous expression, the woman laughed.

"It's not booze, though I wish it was," the woman laughed. "Just coffee."

"I didn't think we were allowed to bring things back from the mess hall," Diana said.

The woman winked. "Would you like some?"

She nodded gratefully, taking the steaming-hot thermos from her hands. She took a deep sip, relishing the way the hot liquid slid down her throat.

"Feel free to finish it," the woman said, and Diana nodded gratefully, gulping the hot liquid down.

"Hawthorne! What are you doing?" the CO shouted, stopping at their cell. "You know the rules."

"I didn't – it's not mine –" she protested as the CO stepped into the cell, yanking the thermos out of her hands.

"Really?" she asked. "And whose is it, then?"

The woman whose thermos it was made a sudden slashing movement across her throat, promising ill will if Diana ratted her out. Diana fell silent as the CO scoffed.

"Thought so. You're coming with me."

Mutely, Diana followed the CO down the hall to an empty cell. She was shoved in without ceremony, falling to the floor as the CO locked her in.

As Diana stood the CO sneered at her. "Sleep tight!"

Diana slowly walked over to her bunk and collapsed, sobbing bitterly at the indignities of her new position.

***

The next morning she was found hanging from her bunk, her cotton sheet knotted around her throat. As the morning CO walked down the hallway, unlocking the cell doors for breakfast, she stopped and called out to the other CO waiting down the hall. They stared for a moment, before they shrugged and continued to round up the other inmates for breakfast. It was only later, once they had returned the inmates to their cells, and the medical examiner arrived, that Diana Hawthorne was cut down.

--xx—

Jack sat at his desk, holding the framed picture of Claire, looking at it but not really seeing it. He was engaged with the ghost in his head. It's justice at least, he thought.

_And does it make you feel better, Jack?_

His thumb rubbed the edge of the frame. It helps. What about you, do you feel better?

He heard that merry laugh. _We always feel good here. Hey, c'mon. Sure, I'm glad justice has been served, but killing her for whacking me is not going to miraculously bring me back._

I know. He put the picture back and then leaned back, locking his hands behind his head. So what happens now?

_You move on. I move on. We don't just sit on clouds, playing harps, you know. And don't ask, I can't tell you. It's supposed to remain a mystery. You have no idea how unusual it is for me to be able to talk to you._

You can tell whoever makes these decisions that I appreciate it.

_They know. _That merry laugh again, and he closed his eyes, so wanting to wake up from this lingering nightmare of life without her. _I did, however, catch a rash of shit for popping into your dream not so long ago._

Someone knocked on his door, and Claire was gone. Jack sat up and called out "Come in," wanting to add "damn you."

Jamie came in, a file in hand and a frown on her face. "I've just heard from the medical examiner."

"And?"

Jamie sat in Claire's old chair, passing the file across the desk. "Diana Hawthorne's death has been ruled a homicide, and guess who's caught it?"

Shock ran through him. "Oh hell no."

"Oh hell yes." She pointed at the file. "Briscoe and Curtis caught it on their end. Full circle, wouldn't you say?"

"I'd say is this thing ever going to end?" He refused to open the file.

Jamie persisted. "They have a suspect, the corrections officer who removed her from gen pop to a solitary cell. Briscoe unearthed a serious gambling debt, seems the woman loved the ponies. Guess who she owed thirty grand to?"

"Don't tell me." Jack closed his eyes as his stomach twisted and his mind cried out for a drink.

"Yes indeed, the Viola family's bookie over here."

"One way to clear a debt," he muttered. "And I'm expected to prosecute?"

"Adam doesn't see a conflict of interest, he says it's one way to show that justice is impartial when it's doled out by his office. The press is going to get hold of this soon."

He shook his head. "I'm supposed to prosecute the person who killed the woman who killed my lover. Surreal."

"We're supposed to prosecute." The emphasis in Jamie's voice caught his ear and he looked at her. "Look, I understand if you're not ready yet to look at the files. I'll do the preliminary work, but it's ours, Jack." She got up and took the file off his desk. "I'll talk to you later."

He waited until he was certain she was not going to come back with some argument about moving on, facing facts, doing his job. Then he got up and left without a word to anyone. He wandered to his favourite bar and sat on his usual stool. He ordered a double, then stared at himself in the mirror. Could this get more twisted? A memory erupted, Diana laughing at something he said, and how he took her in his arms. No, he thought, I will not go there. Then Claire slipped into his memory, holding his hand as they walked along the beach.

"Thought I might find you here, Counselor."

Jack looked up at Lennie Briscoe, not at all happy to see him. "And what gave you the idea that I'd enjoy having my privacy invaded?"

Lennie sat next to him and ordered a club soda. "A shared sense of guilt and responsibility, for one. We have to have this out someday, Jack. Neither one of us killed her, yet both of us did, and we have to find a way to work together."

"You fell off the wagon, of course she was going to take care of you," he said, finishing his drink and signalling for another.

"And you left her." Lennie knew how to return fire. "Jack, he was stalking her. He would have hit her that night whether it was you or me in that car."

"But if I hadn't called her in the first place," he said, and he acknowledged the drink put in front of him with a nod.

"We can compare dick sizes all day, McCoy," Lennie said, "but in the end, she's dead and we're still here, we have to keep going."

Jack laughed at his comparison of their guilt complexes. "So Diana was murdered?" He changed the subject, not wanting to talk about Claire.

"That's what Liz Rodgers says. She found the ligature marks of a garrotte, distinctly different from a sheet."

"And you, of course, have already nailed down a suspect?"

"Yep. It wasn't hard, this particular CO is lousy at both gambling and killing."

"And I'm expected to prosecute her."

"You and Jamie." He looked at his watch. "Jamie is arraigning her right now for murder for hire."

"A capital offense," Jack mused.

"Yes."

"I can't prosecute her, her attorney will have a field day with the conflicts."

"To the contrary, I'm sure her attorney will be doing happy dances, after all, why would you want to stick a needle in the arm of the person who executed the woman who murdered your lover?"

He looked at Lennie. "Do you get the feeling this thing has come full circle, that fate or whatever is playing with us?"

Lennie shrugged. "I don't think that deeply about such things. I caught a homicide, I caught a suspect. I've collected evidence, done my job. Now it's your turn to do yours."

He sighed, drained his drink and flicked his finger at the bartender. He waited until another was put in front of him, then said, "I guess there's no way out of it." His sigh was explosive. "Claire would laugh her ass off at the ironies."

"You know, I can't remember hearing her laugh." There was a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Someone put money in the jukebox, and "Sounds of Silence" filled the bar. Jack nearly winced. He was all too familiar with the sounds of silence, he hated them.

"She laughed," he finally said, "she laughed a lot. She had a really playful streak, but she kept it out of the office. I once told her she should start her own law firm, Serious and Roebuck."

Lennie smiled. "I'm sure she'd expect you to do your job."

Jack arched his eyebrows. "Think so? I'm not so sure, she'd go into ethical overload."

"McCoy." Lennie gripped his wrist before Jack could lift the glass to his lips. "I knew her well enough to know she would expect you to do your job. Diana Hawthorne was a murderer, but even she deserves justice as a victim in this case. The Violas wanted her silenced, too bad we can't tie them directly to this."

Jack shook off Lennie's grip and drank. "All I cared about was justice for Claire." Another drink appeared, Lennie glared at the bartender as Jack stared into space. "And now...God, what a cosmic joke. Now I have to get justice for her killer."

"Which a man of integrity would do," Lennie said, softly, wishing he could somehow comfort this conflicted, complicated man next to him. "I do remember one thing Claire said." Jack cocked his head, listening. "We were listening to Rey interview this skell, she thought Rey was wound too tight, but that's beside the point. She said 'Jack has integrity, he may push the envelope sometimes, but in the end, he does the right thing. I don't think he's going to see this as anything more than manslaughter.'" Lennie shrugged. "I knew she loved you, but, honestly, I had no idea why.' He smiled to take the sting out of the words. "Those words gave me a clue."

Jack shrugged it off. "So she thought I had integrity. I'm not so sure, look at the way I went after Diana."

"Justifiably so, even Ben Stone was on board for that. My point is –"

"Your point is that I shouldn't lose one of the things that made her love me." Jack finished his drink. "I'm going home, Detective. I want to be alone, I'm sure you'll convey the message."

Lennie watched him count some bills and put them on the bar, then stuff his wallet in his hip pocket. "I will, but I'm not sure that gaggle of women you have will listen."

Jack grinned. "I'm not going to answer my door, and if some fool tries to invoke a 'welfare check' they won't know what hit them the next day." He got off the stool and shrugged into his jacket. "I know what I'm supposed to do, Lennie, I understand what's expected of me. Failure has never been an option for me." He looked at Lennie for a long moment. "I'll be fine, I'll do the right thing, but I absolutely want to be left alone right now." He turned and walked out of the bar.

Lennie flashed back to a night months ago, when Jack had done the same thing, but this time he didn't turn and say 'the hell with her.' Sighing, Lennie finished his club soda. Whatever had been between Jack and Claire away from the office, it was real, and he understood the man's need to be alone with thoughts right now. He'd pass the word.

--xx—

Jack took a cab home. It was dusk, he flicked the switch on the lamp by his new couch, then went to his bedroom to change into jeans and a tee shirt. He poured a large scotch and put the Jefferson Airplane into his CD player. Then he flopped on the couch lengthwise, crossing his ankles, pushing a pillow behind his head. Diana was dead. It had been difficult to absorb when he heard the news, learning it was a homicide was too much. Live by the sword, die by the sword, the Jesuits would have said. It did save him a trip to witness another execution.

He wasn't sure how he would have handled that, watching Diana die. Despite the hatred he felt for her, for killing Claire, he still remembered a time when what he felt was anything but hate. He thought about the terror she must have experienced, then countered it with what must have flashed through Claire's mind as those headlights signalled impending death. He wondered if there was truly a hell, and if Diana was there. Somehow the thought was not comforting.

_She's not in hell._

He jumped. "Damn it, don't sneak up on me like that," he snapped, wiping spilled scotch with his fingers.

He heard her laugh. _I always hated that tee shirt, no great loss. Listen to me, Jack. It's over, and you have to let go and move forward. Diana is not in hell._

"And how do you know?"

A sigh. _Let's put it this way – we met in reception. She was in shock, but when she saw me, she apologized for what she did, for wrecking so many lives. She was scared, too, but she wanted me to know how sorry she was. And then she got yanked for her life review. I think she's in the place for those who...well, I guess your Jesuit buddies would call it purgatory, I call it the room I never want to see, but it's not hell._

"So, now I prosecute her killer?"

_Isn't that the way it works? She was a human being, deeply flawed, but she still deserves a little justice for having her life taken._

"How can you be so forgiving?"

_It's not hard, a lot of understanding comes with being here. Jack, you have to move on, I'm not going to tell you again. I'm not going to come back, either, though you can still talk to me. I just won't answer. It's time, Jesuit boy, for you to accept the cards you were dealt and play the hand._

He felt a kiss on his forehead, and then she was gone. He knew it was for good, that she meant what she said. He sat up enough to sip his drink, then sank back on his pillow as Grace Slick sang "Don't You Want Somebody to Love?" He sighed. OK, he could do what she wanted, one last time.

--xx—

Jamie was already in the office when he came in the next morning. His headache wasn't too bad, a couple of aspirin and he'd be fine. He leaned into Jamie's cubicle. "Bring me the file, let's get to work."

Unable to hide her surprise, Jamie opened a drawer as Jack walked into his office. She followed. He held his hand out and she gave him the file. He smiled at her before opening it. "You know I can be a son of a bitch," he said.

"Yeah, so what?"

"So don't take some of the things I might say personally."

Her smile was sweet. "I won't."

He cleared this throat. "The wheels of justice turn slowly, don't they?"

"And we're still here," she said.

He glanced at the file, then closed it. "I'm not ready to look at some of this right now. What have you culled from it?"

Jamie took the file and pulled her notes from the back of the stack of legal papers. "A corrections officer, deeply in debt, isolated and then strangled Diana Hawthorne, or so we theorize, based on the evidence. CSU recovered a rawhide string from a trash can just outside the prison gates, DNA from Diana's skin is on it. We have fingerprints from the isolation cell itself, and on the sheet. The suspect is terrified that she'll be next, we have her in protective custody. I know the charge is murder for hire, but maybe Adam would drop it down and we can deal her out."

The things Claire would have said, but without that quiver of emotion Claire couldn't hide when the death penalty was discussed. He studied Jamie. She wasn't judging him, appeared to hold no expectations of him beyond doing his job, wasn't about to pry into his private life. Relate to her, Claire had said, trust her and work with her.

"OK, we'll talk to Adam about it. This thing has to end somewhere, it might as well be now. There's been enough death." He pushed away from the desk and stood. "Let's go see if Adam will go for murder two. You can present the case to him."

Jamie cocked her head, surprised. "Oh, OK."

"You're a smart lady, Jamie, I'm glad to have you." His smile was sweet. "So, let's get to work, and if I get too moody, too close to the edge, don't hesitate to kick my ass."

"Deal."

They walked across the hall and into Adam's office, and Jamie stepped forward to present the case and their opinions. Adam listened, a tiny smile playing with his lips. They'd finally become a team, he wasn't quite sure how, but they'd done it. Maybe that ghost in Jack McCoy's head had finally left him. He met Jack's eyes. He saw enough of the old Jack to be reassured, to let him run this case his way. And he hoped with all his heart that the ghosts running around were finally at peace so his office could get back to normal, with his lead prosecutor kicking ass left and right while his second chair battled him, enjoying every second of the combat.

And Jack McCoy felt at peace for the first time in a very long time.

END.


End file.
